


On Our Terms

by Loxxlay



Series: Brothers of Habit (grandthorki) [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Brotherly Love, Dubious Consent, Edit: no named characters die, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Mutual Non-Con, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Physical Abuse, Seizures, Self-Harm, Sexual Assault, So y'all better be checking every chapter :P, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Violence, no one's gonna die so don't worry, the heaviest angst
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-21
Updated: 2019-03-15
Packaged: 2019-08-05 13:27:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 31,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16368479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Loxxlay/pseuds/Loxxlay
Summary: Months into his and Thor's captivity, Loki is growing weary. They've lost autonomy of almost everything, from their freedom and bodies, to even their love. Loki struggles for control over the last option available to him—their lives. It's only a matter of convincing Thor that death is a kind of escape.





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

> I can't believe I'm finally posting this lmao.
> 
> First of all, **PLEASE HEED TAG WARNINGS AND CHECK THEM EVERY CHAPTER UPDATE.**
> 
> Second of all, thank you to [shipperfiendobsessor](http://shipperfiendobssesser.tumblr.com/), [dictionarywrites](http://dictionarywrites.tumblr.com/), [led-lite](http://led-lite.tumblr.com/), Julia, [thelightofthingshopedfor](http://thelightofthingshopedfor.tumblr.com/), [zombiecheetah](http://zombiecheetah.tumblr.com/), and [rex-luscus](http://rex-luscus.tumblr.com/) for helping me beta-read my fic!! That was such an interesting process and unbelievably helpful for me. Thank you all so much!! (For funsies, I'll say [thelightofthingshopedfor](http://thelightofthingshopedfor.tumblr.com/) is the only one who guessed what the knife is for lmao, and now that I know how vague it was, I'm just like 'wow you are ASTUTE.' So kudos XD <3)
> 
> Anyway this is a sad sad fic, but being in the [Brothers of Habit universe](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1036079), it will have a happy ending, so do not fear. The chapter count itself is a rough estimation, I still have the last 4ish to write.
> 
> For new readers, **I write grandthorki as the Grandmaster forcing a fraternally-related Thor and Loki to have sex** so neither of them had feelings for each other prior to their experience being captured. You don't really need to read other fics to understand this fic. It stands on its own. Just know it's post-Ragnarok and they've been captured and mutually nonconned for a while now.
> 
> Anyway thank you all!! I wrote this for [Grandthorki Day](http://grandthorkiday.tumblr.com/) and I'm so happy for everyone who chose to participate! Ahhh! Without further ado, happy reading <3 <3 <3

To open his eyes, Loki had to blink through a thick layer of sweat. Every muscle in his body ached of strain, and his nose recycled each stale breath, musty and stagnant and hot. He longed to shake himself out, but he couldn’t move. Thor’s weight was crushing him.

“Thor,” Loki croaked, but it barely made a sound. Rusty phlegm coated the walls of his throat. Without water, the dryness peeled away his voice, layer by layer.

He struggled. At the very least, he longed for a breath of fresh air that wasn’t an echo of Thor’s or his own. Loki craned his neck against Thor’s forehead until he managed to get his chin propped on the cushion beneath him. Cool air soothed his lips, and Loki stared at what he could see—party-goers, dressed, half-dressed, and nude, lay scattered about the room, sleeping off whatever drug had spiked their drinks.

Loki closed his eyes and exhaled. He remembered last night in vague flashes. Strangers and Thor, and then just Thor—his brother—fucking him dozens of times into oblivion. His one blue eye screwed shut, his lips clenched into a tight line, as if he had any hope, even drugged, of pretending he didn’t enjoy it. That he wasn’t mercilessly thrusting into Loki again and again. That Loki wasn’t begging him for more.

He shook his head of the scattered images and considered others instead—none of his assailants had been the Grandmaster. Not that he remembered.

Loki struggled again, but Thor wouldn’t budge. “Thor,” he said, louder now.

Thor audibly snored.

“Thor.” The heat of Thor’s body was pouring fire into Loki’s skin, and Loki desperately needed room. “ _Thor._ ” He flailed another time. His elbows hammered into Thor’s chest, and his legs kicked for leverage, toes thumping against the cold floor.

Thor stirred—but it wasn’t the way Loki wanted.

He came awake with a needy, lustful moan, and Loki felt the evidence of his brother’s arousal poking hard between his legs. Loki went still. The head of Thor’s cock nestled tight at the ring of muscle of his ass. There was no room for speculation; there was only the truth. They’d fallen asleep in their lustful, drug-induced frenzy. They’d fallen asleep mid-fuck.

Thor must have known it, too, for he had gone silent, even though the rhythm of his lungs spoke of waking.

Loki’s irritation drained away. “Can you get off me?” he asked.

“Sorry,” Thor murmured, and he rolled off Loki’s spine.

Loki sat up and inspected himself. He was naked except for the countless golden bands and bracelets that hung around his arms, wrists, and ankles. He wore necklaces, too, of silver and gold, diamond and sapphire. They hadn’t been taken from him whilst he lost his senses. Good. He would need them later.

On the other side of the sofa, Thor had started to jerk himself off. When he caught Loki looking, he winced, but he didn’t stop nor did he apologize, like he used to. “It’s still wearing off,” he said instead, meaning the drug.

“I don’t mind,” Loki said.

By now, they’d grown accustomed to each other’s presence for things like this. Loki had seen Thor’s cock in action so many times that it had become as dull as looking out the window at the barren landscape of Sakaar. In fact, the sight of Thor in climax was sometimes comforting now—to be able to watch and not hate. To share such intimacies with each other of their own volition in the Grandmaster’s absence.

So Loki settled next to Thor on the cushion, close enough for their thighs to mold together, and he moodlessly watched as Thor worked himself. “Do you remember last night at all?”

“Vaguely,” Thor said as his hand funneled up and down, up and down.

“Did you see him?”

“See who?”

“The Grandmaster.”

Thor slowed his ministrations and donned a thoughtful expression. “A couple of times. He was wandering around.”

“Yes, but did he talk to you? Do anything with you? With me?”

Thor frowned. “Not that I remember. Why?”

Loki sighed at the answer. His attention shifted from Thor to the rest of the room. Afternoon sunlight poured inside, flooding the faces of party-goers and guests, but none nearby roused. There was a stirring of movement only at the far end of the room. Too distant for any of them to be listening.

Still, Loki hesitated. “I think he’s getting bored of us.”

Thor gave him a confused look, even as his face strained with pleasure. “It was an orgy. He’s always—mmm—up and about for those.”

“I guess.”

Thor’s breath was getting heavier, and Loki leaned into his side to watch, if only for lack of anything else as interesting. Pre-cum glistened at the head of Thor’s cock, and a single drop of it slithered down his skin, dampening his pubes like morning dew. Tempted by habit, Loki longed to reach out and catch a droplet on his finger, taste his brother on his tongue.

Guilt broke his boredom. His feelings blurred between attraction and disgust, lust and repulsion, and the feelings were familiar. Known. Ordinary. He kept watching. To look away would be the same as telling Thor he hated this, and he didn’t want to drown Thor in guilt, too.

“Loki,” Thor said suddenly, between shaky breaths. “Tell me why you’re worried.”

Loki shrugged.

“He still—spends time with us—at least every other day,” Thor went on. “We’re—we still—he still likes us.” Thor’s muscles tensed, and his hand started to lose its rhythm. Too slow for one, too fast for the next, and sometimes barely a tremor of movement. He was close. “What’s—making you think—he doesn’t?”

Loki inhaled a breath and, at last, shifted his gaze to Thor’s chest, cheek pressed to the indent in his brother’s shoulder. “It’s the third time he’s held a gathering without speaking to us. And even before tonight, we didn't see him for two days.”

Thor shuddered. “But—wouldn’t it be—a good thing? For him, to be, ahh—bored?”

“Maybe,” Loki lied, and that’s when Thor came.

Spend shot between his hands and ran all over his legs. Some of it spilled onto Loki’s bare thigh, white and sticky, and Loki suddenly remembered how thirsty he was. But he wasn’t ready to go yet, so he sat with Thor in the aftermath and listened to his brother’s racing heartbeat slow to bliss.

As the minutes passed, nearby Sakaarians woke like the roll of a wave, from far to near. The Grandmaster’s drugs worked like that. Precise. Down to the last second, if he timed it right for everyone. Flexible only when he wanted. Everything was like that with him.

Tired, Loki waited until Sakaarians a mere four yards away stumbled to their feet before he’d had enough. “I’m going to find some water,” he said. “Meet you in our room?”

Thor squeezed his knee with a come-stained hand. “Yeah,” he said. “Ten minutes?”

“Alright,” Loki lied again.

He searched for their clothes amongst the wreckage and tossed Thor a stray shirt and pants. Then he dressed and went in the direction of the bar.

 

* * *

 

They were waiting for him when he got there. All of different species, all of varying status within Sakaar. All with only one purpose uniting them: the desperation of impoverished scrappers to be paid. Their greedy eyes hungered over Loki’s every movement, and their fingers danced at their belts as if they thirsted of the urge to grab.

Loki ignored all of them and went to pour himself a drink from an unopened bottle.

The pink liquid splashed into the pint-sized glass he chose and bubbled as it festered. Loki stopped pouring just in time for the foam to brush the rim of the glass. Setting the bottle down, he dropped ice cubes inside and used a nearby utensil to stir the chill through the rest of the drink. It was the good kind. The smother-everything-you’re-feeling kind. The pretend-this-isn’t-real kind.

He turned to face the creatures staring at him and without breaking eye contact, he downed the glass in two large gulps.

One creature stepped forward, slimy and jelly-eyed. It was taller than the rest of them. As large as it loomed, Loki had to lift his chin to meet its gaze—but he still looked at the creature down his nose, if only to give off an air of indifference.

The creature didn’t speak right away, so Loki waited. The one to speak first would be the one to expose their vulnerability, and Loki was not so fog-headed as that. Not yet anyway.

“Well?” the creature said in a low guttural voice. “Do you think we are fools? Where are the credits you promised us?

“Show me what _you_ promised,” Loki said smoothly, “and I’ll tell you.”

The creature let out an irritated, repulsive breath, and Loki used all of his power to keep his nose from wrinkling and his face from spasming at the foul stink tainting the air between them. A moment passed, as he and the creature sized each other up—it was a waiting game, nothing more, nothing less, and Loki had spent centuries of his life honing his skill at this exact challenge.

Eventually the creature beckoned one of his companions forward.

A vaguely feminine humanoid opened her claws to reveal two clear-cased vials, silvery liquid bubbling within.

Loki had done his research on the drug, and they looked to be the right hue and the right size to poison even sons of Odin. They sat in the right containers too, properly shielded from the corrosion of contaminated air. Still, he took another moment to gauge all of the creatures’ faces. In a party as large as this, there was sure to be one novice, one giveaway, if the vials had been faked—but he saw none. And he was confident in his ability to notice.

The vials were the real thing.

The creature looming over him shuffled its feet impatiently. “So? Where is the payment?”

Loki peeled up the very edge of his sleeve revealing the jewelry beneath. “I’m wearing it.”

The creature’s eyes squinted. The rest of them scoffed, folded their arms, or even took predatory steps forward.

“You promised us credits,” one of them snarled.

Loki did not take his eyes off the bigger one. “And you will have your credits. After you sell my jewelry to interested parties,” he said. “Jewelry is in high demand right now, and there are plenty among my crowd who wouldn’t blink an eye at the amount I promised.”

The one at the front took another step forward, and Loki had to crane his head to match its gaze.

“One transaction is enough hassle,” the creature growled.

Loki shrugged one shoulder and reached again for the bottle. It hadn’t been out of his sight, he reminded himself. It’d been behind him this whole time and no one could have tampered with it. Pretending not to care (and starting to feel induced uncaring leaking into his blood), Loki poured himself another glass. “Well, as they say—you can either take my offer, or leave it. I’ll lose nothing if you walk away, but _you_ will lose a large sum. A sum that is far to your advantage, I’d say.”

The creatures all looked between each other, and their leader seemed to frown—if the bones in its forehead could be considered eyebrows anyway. It wouldn’t like to appear weak, Loki knew, and accepting Loki’s offer without negotiating would definitely appear weak. He waited for the inevitable.

“Take your jewelry off,” the creature said. “Show us all of it.”

Amicably, Loki set down his half-drained glass and rolled up his sleeves. One by one, he removed every single bracelet the Grandmaster had ever given him. Then he removed every single necklace around his neck. Every single adornment on his ankles. A sick thrill rushed through him at the idea of the Grandmaster finding out, but no—no, once they gave him the vials, it would be over. He would have already won.

The Grandmaster’s displeasure wouldn’t matter anymore.

“There,” he said, as he set the last on the counter beside him.

The creature looked over the jewelry, seeming unimpressed, but its gawking companions gave the act away.

“It will sell for at least twice what I promised you,” Loki said to encourage their excitement. “Maybe even thrice as much.”

The creature’s yellow eyes shifted to him and stared for a long time. Long enough that Loki knew it was coming. Pretending obliviousness, Loki took his glass and swallowed what remained. He would need it. Norns, he would need it.

“We’ll sell you the drug,” the creature said at last, “but we need something to make up for our inconvenience. Something to sweeten the deal.”

“I’m listening,” Loki said while he inspected his nails, as if bored.

“You and your kind chat and laugh and fuck away while the rest of us are left with scraps. We’re tired of it.” The creature took one final step forward, too tall for Loki to meet its gaze. “So you’ll let us fuck you.”

It was a smart play. Something Loki, an esteemed whore of the Grandmaster, could clearly offer and couldn’t plausibly refuse. Something that would retain the creature’s strength in the transaction under the eyes of its comrades. And something to boost all of their morale—a generosity that their leader had bestowed upon them.

Loki could not fault the creature for making the play. He could only fault himself for allowing it.

 _It doesn’t matter_ , he reminded himself. _You only have to do this one last thing, and then it’s over._

Numbed to them, he inclined his chin. “I want what I paid for first.”

The creature opened its drooling mouth, as if to argue, so Loki held up a warning finger.

“There are eight of you and one of me,” he said coldly. “If I were hoping to screw you over, don’t you think I’d have planned it better?”

A long pause.

Then the creature waved the humanoid forward. “Fine. Give him what we promised.”

Loki snatched the vials from the outstretched claws and held them tight in his fist. They were all he needed, all he wanted, and all the horror in the universe wouldn’t prise them from him now.

(If only the disc wasn’t at his neck. If only he could reach his magic. If he could, he would have already stowed the vials away in his pocket dimension where they could remain undisturbed and safe while he—)

The creatures’ leader grabbed him by the upper arm and shoved him against the counter behind him. Its skin was as oily and slimy as it looked. Snake-like scales shed a nauseating wetness where the creature’s appendages curled around him.

“Clothes off,” it said cruelly, “or we’ll remove them for you.”

Loki’s hands had started to shake and his vision doubled from the alcohol. Awkwardly in the creature’s close quarters, Loki held the vials in one hand and undid his pants with the other, shimmying out of the rest of his robes as slowly as he could without encouraging their impatience.

The creature flipped him around as he finished and pressed his bare chest to cold marble.

His mind was on the edge, but not quite slipping. He wished he’d managed to drink more, wished that he’d snuck off to the bar earlier, maybe soon enough to beat them to it. But no—he’d decided to sit with his brother, chatting about their pointless worries and watching the sun slowly fill the room with wakefulness. It was just—just that he was so tired, so tired, so fucking tired, and everything kept moving too quickly for him to keep up.

He clutched the two vials to his chest protectively. “What are you waiting for?” Loki snarled at whichever alien stood behind him.

And maybe _that_ was what they were waiting for. The first creature impaled its cock in Loki’s ass.

Winded, Loki sprawled face-first and fought the instinct to snap his legs closed. He closed his eyes, and as the alien thrust, as its companions guffawed and cheered and hooted, Loki found that the pain allowed his mind to slip all the way.

He was floating above it. None of it mattered.

He imagined it was Thor behind him. Thor’s muscles straining as they held Loki’s arms, rather than slimy scales and claw-like fingers. It was Thor’s crackling scent of storm drowning him, rather than the stench of garbage smothering the room.

He pretended the hoots and the cheers were his brother’s gentle whispers in his ear. _I’m sorry. Is that too much? I’m sorry._

And for once, the drunken slur of his mind provided a fantasy of his brother free of any guilt.

Simple pleasures.

 

* * *

 

Loki sobered only when it was over. When the creatures had long left him naked and pummeled into the floor, bracelets and necklaces and adornments taken. Only the clothes at his feet and the two vials in his grip remained his.

He wanted to stay there, curled on the colored tiles, until someone saw the mess of him. He wanted the Grandmaster to be the one who found him. If he was seen like this—eyes staring into an unfixed point in the distant, mouth agape, and heart rung utterly dry—maybe the Grandmaster would extract justice from the ones who had done this to him. Maybe he would even let Loki and his brother go.

A dull laugh trickled through Loki’s throat.

Even wasted, he hated to fantasize the absurd.

Gingerly, he picked himself off the floor and stumbled back into the remains of his clothes—hopefully for the last time. With a deep, composing breath, he patched the pieces of his soul back together and headed in the direction of his and his Thor’s room.

 

* * *

 

When he got back, Thor was pacing in front of the door, arms folded and face scrunched into tight lines of unease. He stopped when Loki came in and looked him once over. Perhaps for bruises or other injuries, even if they were ones he wouldn’t be able to see beneath the clothing.

Loki did the same.

Thor’s wrists were as ruined as they always were. The Grandmaster had long enjoyed seeing him cuffed and chained, he liked seeing the muscles in his arms work as he seized and writhed and moaned over whatever agenda the day held in store. Barely healed scars and a kaleidoscope of bruises hung around his wrists like bracelets.

Older wounds, Loki noted with careful scrutiny. None were fresh.

It meant little. Thor was robed in a long-sleeved shirt and loose pants. He could be hiding any number of injuries underneath, but Loki still took comfort in the fact that his hair was not wet—he had not yet spent time alone in the bathroom. It wasn’t much, but it was all Loki had.

“You were gone awhile,” Thor said.

It was a question—or rather, an offer. They didn’t ask each other real questions anymore. It was easier to choose to volunteer the information or not, rather than burst into sobs at a simple three words: _are you okay? Did something happen? Can I help?_

Loki shrugged and said, “You must have come back early.”

And that was the end of it.

“Did you eat something yet?” Thor asked.

Loki shrugged. He wasn’t very hungry.

“I brought some fruit back with me. Won’t you have any of it?”

“If you want me to,” Loki said, knowing that Thor wouldn’t press him.

As expected, the words worked like magic. Thor’s expression closed off and his fists clenched—and then loosened. “I’m going to wash. Unless you want to go first,” he said. The offer was by way of habit if anything. In truth, he was already turning for the bathroom, his face neutral and his hands still pulsing at his sides—likely because Loki never wanted to go first. Loki was too tired of deciding, of thinking, of living.

But this time, Loki had a purpose. He hesitated. “Actually, may I?”

Thor twisted around to look at him, and his face had crumpled with an unfamiliar start of joy. As if this simple thing, this simple moment of Loki taking ownership of his life, was enough to cure them. “Really?” he breathed.

Guilt rose in Loki’s chest. He squashed it down. “Yes. If that’s alright.”

“Of course,” Thor said. He knew better than to say more.

Without looking at his brother, Loki went into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

In a corner of the room, there was a tile that could slide free, and under the tile was an indent in the floor.

Loki had found it months into their captivity, when bruises from some unremembered night had rendered him clumsy and left him tripping over the tub onto his hands and knees. The tile had rocked under his weight, hollow and displaced, and curious, he’d lifted it, revealing the secret pocket-sized trove. He could hide small things there, if he ever had the need.

Loki stared at the tile now. His right hand clutched the temptation of death to his heart, and his left hand picked at stray threads in his sleeve. The door was locked, and Thor was silent on the other side. Loki was alone.

He thought about it for long minutes. It would be a simple thing—to take the drug and pass in the silent peace of the vents humming with cool air and the smell of perfumes masking the stench of garbage outside of this safe little haven. Thor or the Grandmaster would later find his corpse, and he hoped ( _hoped_ ) that it would stick this time. That he could stay dead once and for all.

The problem, as always, was Thor.

The Grandmaster had no use for Thor without him, so leaving Thor behind would be the same as killing him. These days, it wasn’t such a horrific thought— if only not for the fact that maybe, just maybe, Thor still wanted to live.

A cold, heartless, _selfish_ part of him wanted to make the choice for both of them. As he had promised himself while being fucked eight separate times.

Loki squeezed his eyes shut and inhaled deeply.

No. No, he could wait a few days. He could nudge Thor into the idea, and if not, there would always be time to decide, time to die. It would be better to have Thor’s consent. He could last a little longer, just a little longer.

Slowly he picked himself up and lifted the tile.

That was where he found the knife.

Loki’s lungs chilled at the sight of it. It was a flimsy kitchen knife, likely stolen from the table of a party sometime, but it was sharp enough to wound. Loki ran his fingers along the flat side of the metal and studied the dried blood crusted at the blade’s sharp edge. He’d been looking for this knife for weeks now without even knowing what he would find. Every solitary moment, he’d spent upending mattresses, rifling through dresser drawers, and patting corners of pillowcases. He’d expected maybe a nail or a piece of wire or something small and negligible, but—it was a knife. And it had been right here all along.

His hands trembled with the urge to pick it up and wash it of potential disease, but he already knew he couldn’t. Probably Thor wouldn’t notice, but then again, he might—and it was a conversation Loki wasn’t ready to have. If ever.

Loki touched the handle one last time before replacing the tile.

He’d have to find somewhere else.

A laugh spilled through his lips, small and breathy, because this was what they’d been reduced to: warring over hiding spots for knives and lethal drugs.

Loki pushed himself to his feet and ran the bath.


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh, thank you everyone for commenting on the last chapter!!! It meant a lot to me. And I'll be responding to all of them soooon~ <3
> 
> Anyway here is the next chapter, which - again, please heed the warnings! ^_^ Particularly for this chapter, **some graphic self harm** and a **pervasive sense of suicidal ideation**.
> 
> Also thank you to the amazing [veliseraptor](http://veliseraptor.tumblr.com/) for beta-ing this chapter (which included a huge amount of reassuring mee ahhhh, thank you <33).
> 
> Enjoyy! ^_^

_ If you want me to. _

The words seared the synapses of his mind. They were branded on his bones, carved into his flesh. They were the answer to every question, every offer, every conversation.

Thor was sick of hearing them. He was sick of himself for being sick of hearing them.

He’d believed that Loki was trying again when he’d gone to bathe of his own free will, but then several minutes later, he’d come out, wordlessly paced over to their bed, and collapsed into a mindless stupor. He hadn’t even looked at Thor along the way.

It was pointless to fight against it, but a hope had weakened Thor. Seduced him.

He asked, “will you eat something now?”

And Loki said into the pillow, “If you want me to.”

And it bruised. It burned. It bled.

The helplessness expanded in his chest, and it begged to be released—with fists slamming into walls, chairs upended, fingers clawing into velvet cushions. But he wasn’t allowed to do those things anymore. Loki always pretended not to care, but Thor would catch glimpses of his wide eyes, his clenched lips, his flared nostrils. On Sakaar, Thor’s temper scared Loki. 

He wasn’t allowed, but everything was so vast and uncontainable. He couldn’t stuff it all inside of him. It wouldn’t fit.

“I’m going to wash,” Thor tried one last time.

There was a long pause.

“Alright,” Loki said.

So Thor went inside the bathroom and locked the door behind him.

 

* * *

 

He’d started the first time Loki had taken him.

After the Grandmaster left, they’d sat in their room, not looking at each other, and the silence had risen around them like an unstoppable flood that would drown them if they let it. Thor was sitting gingerly on a loveseat—the same loveseat upon which the Grandmaster had once fucked Loki while he slept. Thor hated sitting here, but his ass still felt raw and sensitive and the cushion was comfortable and closest to the window.

Loki himself was curled on the window seat, staring out at the heaps of trash and the towering buildings. Or maybe the stars in the sky. Or the hint of dawn on the horizon. Thor knew better than to ask.

“Is this what you felt like?” Loki asked after a while. His voice didn’t waver or crack, but the hush of the whisper betrayed his distress.

It took Thor a moment to gather the courage to speak. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Loki said and his eyes darted for a brief second in Thor’s direction, “if this is what you felt like when you first took me. Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Thor said. He remembered every day. 

“So? Is it the same?”

Thor folded his arms and considered. “No,” he said. “I’m guessing you feel worse.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Thor said as he stumbled over the thoughts and feelings that coursed through the veins of the memory. “Partly because he wasn’t here when I took you. It was just us. I could stop whenever either of us wanted, so it didn’t feel like I was hurting you. Not physically at least.” 

Not like what had happened hours ago. Not like how Loki had been forced to hear his every gasp, feel his every flinch, and see his every choked cry. For his brother’s sake, Thor wished he could shape himself of stone—unmoving, uncaring, and unbreakable.

Loki was staring at him. “And the other reason?”

“What?”

“You said ‘partly.’”

Thor shrugged. He’d thought it was obvious. “And partly because you wanted it.”

Instantly Loki’s face shut off. His head turned back to the window, but Thor could tell he wasn’t seeing through the glass. His jaw was clenched, his fingers curled brittle around his arms, and he didn’t seem to be breathing.

It took Thor too long to understand what he’d said wrong, but when he did, it was one of the times he couldn’t bear it—one of the times when the pain stretched beyond his capability to contain. “I didn’t mean it that way,” Thor tried.

“I know,” Loki said, but it would have been better if he was yelling. 

“I really didn’t,” Thor tried again. “I just—you  _ asked  _ me to do it the first time. It was on your terms. It made it—it made it easier for me. That’s all I meant.”

“I know.”

“Loki, I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

Loki’s chest deflated with a tired sigh. “I know, Thor. It’s okay.”

It wasn’t okay. 

Unlike the other times, Thor was left with no one to fight and nowhere to channel the guilt. 

He dug nails into his palms. He couldn’t make it right. He couldn’t fix it. He couldn’t stuff the essence of himself into the brother that Loki needed, and his chest was threatening to burst if he didn’t let something out. “I’m going to wash,” he gasped and went into the bathroom without waiting for Loki’s response.

It had started small. Scalding hot water. The sting of tearing tufts of hair from his head. Nails pinching welts into his thighs. Eying silverware at parties and waiting, waiting, waiting for one single chance.

From there, it had descended to this:

In a pool of warm water, Thor held the knife in his hand and the blade to the left side of his chest. He had to be careful where he chose because Loki was astute and the Grandmaster even moreso. Usually he marked his wrists, where the bruises and scrapes of chains had already marred them. Where any cut would disappear into the crowd of other wounds.

But Loki had already seen his wrists today. His gaze had catalogued the marks there with an obsessive scrutiny. He'd seen the lack of cuts.

So Thor couldn’t do it there.

Instead, he pressed the knife to the flesh of his armpit.

The knife’s edge was weak. Thor had to use much of his strength to break skin, and when he did, the pain flared all the way down his arm. He pressed his other hand against his mouth to muffle the groan. 

It was different from the pain at his wrists—not the same, not quite right—and he wanted to slam his fists into the wall because what did it matter  _ how  _ it hurt? Didn’t it only matter  _ that  _ it hurt?

Blood ran in rivers down the side of his torso and tainted the water a muddy, brownish hue. He kept his elbow raised as he watched the ripples of red encircle him.

It wasn’t enough.

Thor’s hand trembled as he lifted the knife again. His eye squeezed shut and his nails dug into his scalp to ground his mind through the pain.

The second cut he aimed parallel below the first.

This time, he thought of Loki out in their bedroom staring blankly at the wall. He thought of Loki’s hollow eyes and empty face. He thought of Loki the last time they’d fucked sober—his head bouncing up and down, up and down, his lips parted, his face flushed pink, and sweat gathering at his forehead. The Grandmaster’s hands woven in Loki’s hair, as he murmured soft platitudes in their ears. As he destroyed them with comfort and violated them with their love.

Thor thrust the knife into his skin.

It stung and bled, but it still—it still wasn’t enough.

Thor choked on a half-sob.  _ Damn it _ , he wanted to shout, but he couldn’t because Loki might hear.

Instead, he sank neck-deep into the water and flinched as the soap-tainted waves caressed his open flesh. He stared at the ceiling and considered for a long time. Every cut he carved was a risk, and there were some risks not worth taking—but the guilt remained, hot and livid and  _ hateful _ , and if he couldn’t direct it at everything else, then he  _ had  _ to direct it somewhere.

Thor clenched his jaw and held the blade to the vein of his wrist. 

At the familiar location, his hands stopped shaking, and his arms slotted into place. His elbows rested on his knees to improve accuracy, and he took a breath as he prayed one last time that Loki wouldn’t notice a newer cut there.

He drove the knife in.

His teeth snapped together, and his back arched against the tub.  _ I’m sorry _ . The thought streamed out of him like a poison as he let the knife linger at bone.  _ I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry— _

It was right. It was enough. 

Blood spat from his arm, and he dropped the knife to hold pressure to the wound.

For a long time, he sat there in the aftermath, waiting for the blood to coalesce and the cuts to scab. As he bled into the tub, his mind emptied, leaving him numb and cold but at least not angry. Like this, he could become a shell—a puppet led through the motions. He could become made of stone, just as he needed to be, because he’d bled all his feeling away.

A knock on the door startled him out of mourning.

“Thor?”

Thor closed his eye. “Yes?”

“You’ve been in there for a long time,” Loki said from the other side. His voice was soft and tired.

“Sorry. I was falling asleep,” Thor lied. 

Silence.

“I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

“Alright.”

It was faint, but Thor could hear his light footsteps creeping away.

Thor checked to be sure he had stopped bleeding. He’d have to wear something dark and long-sleeved to bed in case the cuts reopened.

Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet and dried the top half of his body off. His wrist bit at every twist, every squeeze, but he welcomed the pain because it reminded him of everything he’d just scoured clean. As he stepped out and bent to drain the tub, he watched as the evidence of his dying washed away.

 

* * *

 

Loki had returned to bed by the time Thor came out, and he didn’t move as Thor unfolded the covers and propped his pillow against the headboard in the way he liked.

Only as Thor slipped under and settled down, did Loki turn his head in Thor’s direction. He eyed the thick fabric of Thor’s shirt as though wanting to ask if Thor was really wearing it to bed. He didn’t ask though. He rarely did.

“Sorry for worrying you,” Thor said. “I lost track of time.”

Loki gave a non-committal hum.

When it was clear nothing more would be said, Thor leaned over and turned the last remaining light off, washing the room in a moonlit darkness. The air conditioning was at full power, but under the covers, it was hot and smothering and Thor already was sweating through his shirt. Without thinking, he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and turned to lay on his side.

Loki’s eyes were open and staring. They hovered over the cut on his wrist—and Thor held his breath in a tentative shame.

No surprise crossed Loki’s features. Nothing but the same dull misery.

His head turned so that his green eyes stared at the ceiling instead. “Was it my fault?”

Thor tensed. “What?”

“My fault,” Loki repeated. “That you lost track of time. That you took so long.”

“Oh.” Thor’s lungs emptied in relief. He tucked his wounded arm under the covers and tried to think of a lie that would still sound like the truth. “No,” he said in the end. “Not really.”

The mattress bounced as Loki rolled fully onto his side. “You know I’m trying, don’t you?”

Thor glanced at him. “Hm?”

Loki took a heavy breath. “I know that you resent me.” Before Thor could speak, he whispered urgently, “Please don’t argue. I can't argue tonight.”

Though uneasy, Thor went silent. 

“You resent me,” Loki said. “It’s obvious every time you talk to me. Every time you look at me. It’s why you spend so much time alone in there when I—when I can’t be who you . . .” He trailed off, but he didn’t look distressed. His face looked horrifyingly blank. “It’s okay. I knew it would happen eventually. I just want you to know that I’m not being like this to—to punish you or upset you or . . . I’m trying, Thor. I’m truly trying.”

Something lurched in Thor’s heart—something alive—and Thor spoke before it could expand in his chest. “No,” he said, “no, Loki, you have it wrong. I don’t resent you.”

Loki gave him a wearied look.

“I  _ don’t _ ,” Thor said. “I . . .” 

And Thor knew it wasn’t resentment. He knew he didn’t fault Loki, especially not for dealing with this nightmare in his hollow, mindless way, but—there  _ was  _ something. Even if it wasn’t resentment, it was something, and Thor couldn’t put name to it. A longing maybe. An aching sense that something vital was missing.

He doubted Loki would care for the difference.

“It’s okay,” Loki said. “I’m not angry. I don’t blame you for it.”

Stubbornly Thor shook his head, but he couldn’t find the words.

“See,” Loki went on as if Thor had agreed, “I’m reaching a breaking point. I don’t know how much longer I can hold on. Do you understand what I mean by that?”

Thor’s jaw clenched. He wanted to look at Loki’s face, but he couldn’t just now. He was afraid of what he’d see.

Loki waited until it was clear Thor wouldn’t answer. “Maybe it looks like I’m not trying, but I need you to know that I am. I’m holding myself together with all of my strength, and I’m doing it for you. But I can’t—I can’t hold on and comfort you at the same time.” He paused. “You know that, don’t you? Whether or not you resent me—you understand why?”

The something alive twisted in his heart again, and he couldn’t quite squash it down. Under the covers he pressed his nails into the tender, aching line on his wrist and nodded once—jerky and faint.

Loki huffed a relieved breath—as if this single nod was the only thing he’d needed all along.

They might have stopped there. They might have closed their eyes and breathed and denied until sleep could do the job for them. But the sting in Thor’s wrist wasn’t enough, and he needed more—he needed to  _ speak  _ just once, and have Loki answer  _ just once _ .

Thor’s lips trembled as he stared at the ceiling. “I am, too.”

Loki’s eyes were on him. Thor wasn’t looking, but he felt his brother’s gaze pinned on his face. “You’re . . . ?”

“Reaching a breaking point,” he said, and the words were like a damn bursting. Tears brimmed onto his cheeks and he wiped them away with the back of his uninjured hand. If he was breaking—if he broke, then where would the pieces fall? “I—I’m afraid, Loki, I’m so afraid—”

Loki scooted forward and planted a kiss to the corner of Thor’s mouth.

These days, small things like that were slipping through the cracks and melting into normalcy—or maybe it had always been normal to kiss like this. Thor couldn't remember. And he didn't care because it was comforting to feel Loki’s warm breath and soft lips joining his.

“Don’t be afraid,” Loki said. 

Then he pressed the side of his head to Thor’s chest. When he rested, when the pressure of his weight eased onto the fresh cuts on Thor’s armpit, Thor flinched—and Loki went still. His gaze sharpened.

_ This is it _ , Thor thought.  _ This is when he finds out. This is when he guesses how broken I am. This is when he blames himself _ .

But then the expression cleared, and Loki settled back down.

Thor made sure not to flinch a second time.

“We won't have to do this forever,” Loki said. “Something will change, and this will end. We’ll be free.”

Thor wasn’t sure if Loki meant they’d escape or if he meant they’d die here. The uncertainty trickled into the dim shadows on the wall, the space of their breath, and the temptation of sleep lurking nearby. It settled in the weight of his brother on his chest and their heartbeats ringing in his ears. As he crossed the threshold from awake to dreaming, Thor wondered at the words death and escape. They sounded the same. He wondered if he even had a preference anymore. 

That was what scared him most.


	3. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warning: Suicide attempt like whoa o_o**
> 
> Okay so this is gonna be the last slow-paced chapter where they both feel hopeless, I swearrrrr. And I'm sorry about the cliffhanger. I've been looking for a better place to break the chapter for literally 2 weeks lmao, but I couldn't. So enjoy!!! :D

The Grandmaster didn’t show up the next day.

It wasn’t unusual anymore, but it was worrying.

Loki spent much of the time pretending to sleep so that Thor wouldn’t bother him, and sometimes Thor would disappear into the bathroom. Never for long. Only to relieve himself. But Loki’s heart tripped every time he heard the door close—like someone had their hands on his intestines and were tearing them out, an inch for every second waiting. He didn’t have much left to give.

When the Grandmaster didn’t show up the third day, Loki knew it was over. It was time.

His chance came while Thor was moving through his afternoon ritual—when he came over and hovered by the bed. Loki let his breathing stutter so that Thor would know he was awake.

“I’m going to wash,” Thor said. “Do you need anything first?”

Loki stared at the wall and asked himself one last time if he really wanted to risk Thor’s refusal—but there was no better time to ask. No preferable option. “Actually, I do.” Already his hands had started to shake, so Loki clutched them into fists and squeezed his eyes shut. “I’d like to talk to you. Can you sit down?”

After a moment, Thor’s weight lowered onto the edge of the bed.

When the mattress settled, Loki pushed himself up with his unused and tired arms, and he faced his brother for the first time in days. “Thor, I’m going to tell you something, and I need you to listen. I need you to take it seriously. Do you think you can do that?”

A frown knotted lines into the bridge of Thor’s nose. His jaw clenched with clear unease, but still he nodded and his one eye glinted with the tell of a promise he would not break.

“The Grandmaster is done with us,” Loki said. As the words came out, the trembling brimmed over to his fists. “I suggested that this might be the case the other morning, but I’m sure of it now. We’re not of interest to him anymore, and we never will be again.”

Thor’s expression twisted with a heartbreaking display of hope.

He opened his mouth, but Loki cut him off. “No, Thor. Don’t speak. Listen.”

Thor did go silent, but Loki couldn’t look him in the eye anymore. Instead, he faced the bed comforter beneath him and twisted his fingers into the designs to keep his hands occupied—because he hated to be the one to crush Thor’s fantasy of escape.

“This isn’t a good thing,” Loki said, head down. “The Grandmaster won’t just let us go and he won’t stop using us. The only thing that will change is that we will gradually lose more and more of his protection. And—I’ve seen what happens to those without his protection. It’s not better. It’s worse.”

Only then did Loki chance a look at his brother. The hope was gone, but Thor didn’t look afraid or angry; he just looked resigned.

“What happens?” Thor asked.

Loki shook his head. “You don’t want to know.”

“I do,” Thor said. “I do want to know.”

Sighing, Loki pressed his lips together and looked away. For awhile, he twisted at a loose thread in the fabric between his fingers, but no matter how much he tugged, it wouldn’t come free. The thread bit into his skin, singing its strength in a tight line across his palm.

Without warning, Thor covered his hand with his and scooted closer to him. His outer thigh pressed into Loki’s, warm and familiar. “What happens?” Thor asked again.

Stiff and shaking, Loki still couldn’t help but lean into his older brother’s shoulder. “Anything,” he murmured. “Maybe someone poisons us. Or beats us.” 

Thor’s torso tensed and his fist clenched in Loki’s line of sight. Old instincts—as if they hadn’t been de-powered and made helpless. As if they had any hope of defending themselves at all. 

Loki pressed himself closer to Thor. “Maybe—maybe someone tries to—maybe someone ra—” 

He couldn’t say it.

Thor’s fist opened to curl around Loki’s shoulder, but he didn’t pretend that it wouldn’t happen or that they’d somehow escape it—he didn’t even argue that they were already being raped. The silence came as a relief.

“Maybe the Grandmaster lets us starve,” Loki went on as he regained his composure. “Maybe he drags us into the arena and has us fight each other to the death for sport. Or maybe, he sells us. To traders and traffickers to do with us as they please.” Loki let the possibilities hang in the air. “Do you—do you see what’s at stake for us?”

Thor’s grip on Loki’s shoulder squeezed. “Yes,” he said. “So why are you telling me?”

It sounded like he already knew. Loki wanted to bury his face in his brother’s chest and just sob. For hours and hours until he ran dry. Funny—he’d thought he’d already run dry, already rid himself of the sobs. He’d thought he’d lost the ability to feel at all long ago.

But now, his numerous rehearsals of this conversation, alone in the bathroom, were the only reason he held onto his nerve. Loki stole a deep breath and put his hand over Thor’s on his shoulder. “Do you still remember the first time? The first time we had sex?”

“Of course I do,” Thor said, even though it had been a lifetime ago.

“And do you remember why I wanted it that way?”

A pause. Thor’s sigh drifted through Loki’s hair. “Yes.”

“Can you say it aloud for me?”

Thor’s hand started to retreat. “Loki—”

“Please,” Loki said, clinging tighter. “Please just say it for me.”

Thor went still, and his chest rose and fell in one large, unsteady breath. “You wanted—you wanted the first time to be just us. Apart from him,” he said quietly. “You wanted the choice to tell me to stop if you needed. To be able to decide when we did it, where we did it, and for how long it lasted.” Audibly Thor swallowed, and his neck bobbed with the effort. “You wanted it to be on your terms—on  _ our _ terms—and not his.”

Loki tried not to think of the horror that had come after, in the wake of the Grandmaster’s displeasure. Instead, he leaned away from Thor and took the two vials from a pocket in his robe. He held them out in the palm of his hand, and their contents glittered in the light of the midday sun. 

Thor stared at them. “What are those?”

“A choice,” Loki said as he trembled. “A choice that would make all of this on our terms. Not his.”

Thor’s gaze rose to meet Loki’s. He didn’t look confused but neither did he look surprised. “How long have you had those?”

“Only a couple days,” Loki said. Curling his fingers around the drugs, he cradled them to his chest and sighed. “But I’ve been trying to get a hold of them for much longer.”

For what seemed like the first time in their lives, Thor’s expression was utterly unreadable.

“I was waiting,” Loki said. “I could have done it without you, but I waited. I was hoping that you’d . . .” Thor got off the bed and turned his back, so Loki switched gears. “It’s going to happen, no matter what. Maybe not for a while. Maybe first, we’ll be tortured or beaten or—or raped by strangers,” he forced himself to say, just to make sure Thor understood. “But eventually—eventually we’re going to die here, and . . . Thor, I’m tired of waiting. I don’t want to suffer anymore.”

Thor folded his arms. He didn’t turn.

“I could’ve done it without you,” Loki tried again. “I can  _ still _ do it without you, but I—I need . . . I  _ want  _ you to be there with me. You’re the only thing that matters anymore, and I—I can’t—” Tears spilled from his eyes. His lips trembled and his hands quaked and he felt so stupid—what had he expected? In what realm would Thor ever consent to this? “I know it’s not what you’d choose,” Loki breathed, even as his voice wavered and cracked, “but please—won’t you at least consider it? For me?”

At last, Thor faced him. His expression was still unreadable, jaw unclenched, brow smoothed, blue eye unwrinkled. “Alright,” he said.

Loki blinked. “You’ll consider it?”

“No. I’ll do it.”

Loki had expected to feel an aching, euphoric relief or a surge of unbearable guilt. Instead, his bones hollowed and his veins went stagnant. He stared at his brother as the numb realization hit—that Thor, who had never given up, who had always clung to hope, had now forsaken everything in a matter of three words. In the span of a heartbeat.

“When were you thinking?” Thor asked, as if the world hadn’t just ended. As if he was asking of something as simple as dinner. 

Loki picked at the comforter. “Assuming he doesn’t send for us? Tonight. As the sun goes down.”

Thor nodded slowly. “And is there anything you want to do before? You could still eat, or . . . I could run a bath for you.”

There should’ve been something, but there was not a single thing Loki wanted to do. Briefly, he considered asking Thor to fuck him. He fantasized of sweat-soaked limbs pressed together, squeezing him with every thrust, and driving out the despair for a brief, brief time of bliss—but that wasn’t his fantasy. That was the Grandmaster’s fantasy, even if it had melted into his heart.

Loki, of his own free will, wanted nothing. Nothing.

“No,” he said. A pause. “Is there anything you’d like to do?”

Thor started as if he hadn’t expected the offer. His gaze traveled around the room in one long (final) sweep, and he tucked his hands into his pockets. The cut on his wrist remained visible, red and ugly. “Maybe we could set up something comfortable by the windows. So we can watch the sun go down together.”

The last thing Loki wanted was to look upon the wreckage of Sakaar—but it was hardly better than stewing in the cabin-fever of this room. Besides, it was the least he could do. And he would only have to do it for a few more hours.

“I’d be fine with that,” Loki said and got up.

Thor smiled at him.

It was too weak, too brief, to be a true smile, but it wasn’t a false smile either. It spread across his face like a ray of sunshine peeking through a storm-clouded sky—and it was there, not because Thor was happy or because he hoped to be happy, but because everything was going to end.

_ My fault. _

A part of Loki wished that Thor hadn’t given in so easily. That they’d fought and argued and screamed at each other until maybe, maybe, maybe Thor had convinced him to live. He buried that part of him deep away because it wasn’t useful anymore. It would just make this harder.

Loki took a shaky breath and gathered blankets and pillows in his arms.

As they worked together to create a comfortable, cozy place of death, Loki took note of the fact that Thor never went to bathe.

Maybe he, too, had been tired of waiting.

 

* * *

 

They were cuddled close, on the floor, amidst pillows and blankets, when the sun’s edge finally touched the horizon. Thor could barely see it out the window—the point of the sun setting lay at the very edge of his frame of view. But he could see pink ribbons streaking across the sky and amber flames curling around the linings of clouds. It was a beautiful sunset for such a wretched place. 

Thor stared at with a longing. 

Loki was quiet where he dozed on Thor’s shoulder, but Thor knew he was awake because his hand that was holding the two silver vials was trembling.

_ I know it's not what you would choose _ , Loki had said, but oh, how wrong he was. The problem was there wasn’t any other choice. Maybe, in the beginning, there had been, or at least the illusion of choices: escape; refuse; obey. But as time had shed its light, as Loki has withdrawn his sugarcoated protection and left him vulnerable to the truth of Sakaar, Thor had learned.

He’d spent the entire last three nights dreaming of death. Loki, slipping from his grasp into the Void. Loki, stabbed through the chest and colored in gray. Loki, a corpse at the Mad Titan’s feet in a thwarted attempt on the lives of the universe.

But these last three dreams, Thor had joined Loki in dying—he’d fallen, he’d gone gray, he’d collapsed.

Instead of the raw, aching misery of waking up thinking his brother dead, Thor had woken each morning with a strange sense of peace. Of content. Thor could not hurt Loki if they were dead. Thor would not need to smother his guilt or his rage if they were dead. Loki would not blame him if they were dead. It was simple. Clean.

And maybe Thor didn’t want to die, but he did want them to be together. Joined by compassion. Allies and brothers in the end. If that meant death, then so be it. 

Looking at his brother, Thor hated to disturb Loki’s peace—if it could really be called peace—but he knew he would have to eventually. Loki would be angry if he let this moment pass. Still as long as he dared, Thor waited. Waited until the yellow and orange became pink and purple. “The sun is setting,” he eventually said.

Loki didn’t open his eyes. “Mmm.”

Suddenly restless, Thor shifted his weight. “When do you want to do it?”

“You can whenever you’re ready.” Loki’s hand slipped open to reveal the two vials, and he offered his palm to Thor. 

Thor took one of them and stared at it. It was so small, so innocuous. He cleared his throat. Something about his brother’s distance, even in this final moment, was more devastating than anything else. “You don’t want to do it at the same time?”

For a while, Loki was silent. “I think . . .” His eyes opened and they brimmed with shiny tears. “I think I need to work myself up to it,” he said. “I imagine you do, too. So . . . so maybe it would be best if we did it separately. Whenever we feel like we can.”

Uneasy, Thor forced himself to nod.

A moment later, there were voices streaming down the hallway outside of their door. The conversation was blurred between the walls, but it reeked of the drunk slurring and the euphoric excitement that often accompanied the Grandmaster’s parties. So he was having one—without them. Thor’s stomach twisted at the thought that the Grandmaster would come in and find them here, scheming for death. 

He swallowed and stared at the door. As if staring at it would keep it shut.

The voices passed and the Grandmaster didn’t come, but the terror had shaken Thor. “What if one of us does it before the other?” he breathed to Loki. “And he finds out?”

Though Loki, too, was staring at the door, he shook his head. “He won’t come for us tonight. It’s too late. He never comes when it’s this late.”

“But what if—what if it doesn’t work fast enough? What if we’re still alive by tomorrow when he—”

“Thor,” Loki said slowly, “I’ve been promised that this dose will work within the hour. As long as we take it before the sun rises, the Grandmaster will find us long after there’s any hope of saving us. Neither of us will feel any pain. It will be done.” He paused and his eyes flickered away to stare at the sky. “I’m going to take mine in a few minutes. I suggest that . . .” A pause again. He inhaled deep through his nose. “Just be sure not to wait longer than an hour from now. Alright?”

Suddenly Thor was struck with the haunting image of Loki, pale and unmoving with vacant, lightless eyes—eyes that stared off at some meaningless point on the horizon. Cold to touch. Heart not beating. Never to smile again.

For the rest of his life, he did not want to see Loki dead.

He had to do this.

“Alright,” Thor said. After a moment, he unwound himself from Loki’s side and sat up. “I need to—to work myself up to it,” he said at Loki’s questioning gaze. “Like you said.”

Loki nodded. 

Thor hauled himself to his knees and folded his arms to rest them on the window seat.

“Thor?” 

Tugged by the frail note in Loki’s voice, Thor turned to look at his brother, maybe for the last time. “Hm?”

“I love you,” Loki said, his eyes on the floor between them. 

Thor reached over to squeeze his knee. “I love you, too. I’m ready. I want this.”

At last, Loki’s eyes met his, and the two of them smiled—small and anguished but smiles nonetheless. Thor wasn’t sure who smiled first, but he felt his smile grow at the sight of the expression on his brother. As it stretched for a second too long, Thor found himself tearing his gaze away. If he’d kept looking any longer, he was sure it would have stolen his courage.

“Goodnight,” Loki said.

Thor turned back to the window. “Goodnight.”

 

* * *

 

Maybe it had been an hour. Maybe it had been five minutes.

Thor stared at the city lights below, watching the inhabitants of Sakaar trail around the roads like ants. He was afraid to count time. He didn’t know if Loki had taken his yet or not, but counting would imply that he had. Counting would give his brother’s life an expiration date. So he daydreamed and comforted himself in the fact that it was far from sunrise (in fact only a little after sunset). Besides, he could always just take his portion of the drug without looking at his brother’s face.

The smile—teary-eyed and weak—would be his last memory of Loki, and that was fine. More than fine.

The streets at the base of Sakaar were emptying. Some had settled into their apartments or their ships or their homes, and others, perhaps, had settled for bed on the streets, knowing that their fruitless attempts for charity would have to wait another day. 

Weary of the emptiness, Thor turned his attention to the stars. Smog filled the sky with a layer of clouds, but some stars were bright enough to shine through. Those, few as they were, he might be able to count.

But there was no point. The city had gone to rest. It was time.

Heart thumping, hands shaking, Thor uncorked the vial and tried not to think of how absurd it was that a substance not even weighing a tenth of a pound could kill him within an hour. He inhaled, nostrils flaring. It would have seemed odorless to anyone not expecting a smell—but there was a faint touch of sulfur, sharpness softened. Thor wanted to dip a finger and test the substance on his skin, but the opening was thin. There was nothing else to do but drink it.

Thor pressed the cold rim of the vial to his lips.

He tried forgetting, he tried counting down, he tried forcing his hand to dip the liquid into his mouth—but he couldn’t.

Thor lowered it and stared at the sky again.

There was a moon on the horizon. Thor blinked. The last time a moon had been visible enough to see through the window had been near the start of their captivity—back when the staticness of their surroundings hadn't yet settled in. He hadn’t appreciated the sight then as he did now.

Half of him wanted to turn and point it out to Loki.

The other half was afraid to turn and find his brother dying. Dead. 

Thor inhaled, exhaled. Then he lifted the vial again.

This time, he was ready. He tilted it and waited for the liquid to hit his lips—

The sound of the door clicking open stopped him. 

Hastily, Thor corked the vial and whipped around with barely veiled horror. He fully expected the Grandmaster, and in that single second, images raced through his mind. The Grandmaster ripping the vial out of Loki’s cold (and maybe stiff) hand, discovering what Loki had done, what Thor had intended to do. The Grandmaster punishing him, flaying him maybe as he had once long ago or, worse, having him serve the rest of his life apart from his brother as a prostitute, something he had always threatened in subtleties— _and Thor deserved it, he deserved it, he deserved it_.

But as Thor looked upon the newcomer in shock, he realized, as if time were stalling, waiting for his brain to catch up, that it wasn’t the Grandmaster.

It was the Valkyrie.

“Hey,” she said as she marched towards him. “We don’t have a lot of time. Come on, get up. Where’s Loki?”

Numb and confused, Thor gestured to the pile of pillows and blankets beside him. At the sight of his brother, his heart stopped cold.

Loki’s eyes were on Thor, and his face was pale and untroubled. His hand rested on the floor, the vial propped between his index and middle finger. It was empty. Drained of its substance. For a terrifying instant, Thor thought Loki was dead.

Then Loki blinked.

“Why didn’t you take it?” he asked in a small breathy voice. 


	4. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Please heed the warnings as necessary, or I'll literally have you flogged.**  
> 
> AHHHHH this is my favorite chapter of this fic that I've posted so far omggg, so I hope you guys like it!!!!
> 
> thank you so much for comments - I fell behind responding, but I appreciate each and every one, and I'll try to respond to all of them soon!
> 
> **Disclaimer: Forgot to mention that I am not a doctor and this is NOt what you do when someone overdoses, please do not do this. they are asgardians, so i can do whatever I want lmao. Anyway I'll reiterate next chapter since I forgot to put this until just now t____t -am the worst-**

Time froze. Thor didn’t want to hear it, he didn’t want to know, but he did. He did. And it was all he could do to delay the inevitable, the ticking of the seconds, the winding of time. Each blink, each breath, each heartbeat—they were one closer to Loki’s last.

So he slowed it down. His mind took a snapshot of this one moment; Loki staring at him in his hollow misery and the Valkyrie frozen mid-step. Thor made everything stop for one blessed second, because he couldn’t bear it. He couldn’t watch Loki die. Not again. Not when the Valkyrie—when  _ Val— _ was here. Not when they had a real chance of escaping at last.

_ No _ , he thought.

And his single coherent thought shattered the ice.

Val frowned at Loki. “Take what?” 

“No,” Thor breathed aloud, “no, no, no, no.” And now time was speeding, the seconds were ticking, and Thor couldn’t stop counting the blinks, the breaths, the heartbeats. He lunged forward and took Loki by the shoulders. “When? When did you take it? Loki? Loki, answer me!”

Loki stared up at him. “Just a moment before . . . before you were going to.” 

Which meant there was still time, an hour’s time—but Thor couldn’t feel relieved. An hour from now or a minute from now, it was a death sentence. Thor went to cup Loki’s face with his palms, but he couldn’t touch. His brother was dying, he was fragile, and this could be the last time he ever held—

No. No, he would not allow it. “Help me get him up,” Thor said to Val.

Val’s face was screwed tight with confusion “What’s going on?”

“Just—hold him up, he—he needs to throw up, he needs to—”

“Wh—”

Thor took his own vial from where he'd left it and shoved it in her face. 

Barely catching it from his panicked hands, Val studied it with narrowed eyes. In the next instant, her face sobered. “Shit,” she said. “ _ Shit. _ ”

Then she was locking her arms under Loki’s armpits and hauling him to his knees. Loki struggled at her grip, but he hadn’t eaten in so long and he had barely moved for days. Thor wasn’t surprised to find his efforts overpowered.

“No,” Loki said, “no, I don’t want—”

Thor rooted his fingers in Loki’s hair. “Loki. She’s going to get us out of here. We—you don’t have to die anymore.”

“I don’t care,” Loki cried, “I don’t care, I don’t care, I don't care.”

But he didn’t fight when Thor stuffed a finger into his mouth and brushed it against the back of Loki’s tongue. It took a few seconds of work to activate his gag reflex—he’d been suppressing it too often in the last months, after all—but once Thor heard him choking, he pressed harder. 

Loki vomited. Yellow bile soaked a puddle on the floor, and his entire body shook with the effort of expelling it. A sob burst from his throat as the last of it sagged beneath him. Tears spilled from the outer corners of his eyes.

While he recovered, Thor shook out his hand and hunted for any trace of the lethal substance in the contents of Loki’s stomach. There seemed to be streaks of silver interwoven with saliva and bile—or maybe it was a trick of the light. He couldn’t tell. Thor looked at Val helplessly.

Staring intently at the vomit, she shook her head. “Do it again.”

“ _ No _ ,” Loki wailed. “Please don’t—”

Thor half-wanted to punch his brother and half-wanted to smother him in a hug. Instead, he held Loki’s scalp and forced his brother to vomit a second time.

It was only on the third try that Val looked satisfied.

“How do you know?” Thor asked.

“I’ve seen people puke after taking it before. It turns black when it’s being digested.” She pointed. “See? There.”

Thor squinted at the vomit until he could see faint speckles of blurred black amidst the yellow and green. He choked on relief. “So he’s good?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Val said. “But I’m guessing the dose has been cut in half.” Thor went for Loki's mouth again, but she swatted his hand away. “It’s too late for that now. It will just waste his energy, and he'll need it.”

“But will half still kill him?”

Without meeting his gaze, Val shrugged. “It buys us more time to find the antidote at least.”

Thor looked helplessly at his brother. Loki’s eyelids hung shut, and his lips were parted with rattling breaths. Sweat lay in a sheen across his brow while pink washed the high points of his cheeks. Just from looking at him, Thor felt worn and drained and empty—but there was no time to rest. Not when every single second was one closer to the chance of Loki’s death.

“He’s out of it,” Val said after shaking him lightly. “Here. Take him.”

As she got up, Thor took his brother from Val’s arms and rested him against the pillows. His mind was still racing, still churning out confusion and shock and panic, but it didn’t change what he had to do. They were getting out of here. They were getting out of here tonight.

While Val went off toward the bed, Thor hurried over to the dresser and fumbled socks from one of the drawers. He stuffed his toes into them and hauled the thick cotton folds over his ankles. Then he grabbed a second pair of socks and two pairs of shoes and returned to Loki.

Loki’s eyes blinked open as Thor tugged the socks on his feet. 

“Hey,” Thor said softly. “How are you feeling?”

Loki didn’t answer. “What’s happening?” he asked instead. The sound of Val cursing traveled from their bed, and Loki’s eyes narrowed in that direction. “Who is—who is—”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay,” Thor said as he forced his brother’s foot into a boot and strung up the laces. “It’s just—Val. She’s here, and she’s going to—she’s going to get us out. We’re going to escape from here, find you an antidote, and then we’ll leave.”

Whether or not he heard or agreed, Loki’s eyelids drooped shut. 

Thor shoved the other boot on him.

As soon as he tied them and started on his own, Val came over with an armful of bed sheets tied into makeshift rope.

“Okay,” she said as she bent down and helped Thor lace up his second boot. “Okay, I think I know someone. Someone with an antidote.” She jerked her chin at Loki. “But we need to get out of here first. And fast. We’ve wasted too much time as it is.” A pause, and Val frowned at him unhappily. “I was hoping you’d both be walking, but you’ll have to carry him. It’s going to draw some attention.”

Thor could imagine. Loki heaved over his shoulders would catch unwanted eyes, eyes that would recognize the both of them at once. They’d attended too many parties, been at too many games, and been offered to too many Sakaarians as “favors.” They’d had too much of a presence not to be recognized. Not if people turned to look.

“So what do we do?” he asked.

“I’m going to have to tie you both up,” Val said as she reached for the bed sheets. “Pretend you’re my prisoners. Do you think anyone will recognize you?”

“Yes,” Thor said without pause.

Val’s lips thinned. “Then I’ll have to cover both your heads, too. You alright with that?”

Thor nodded. There wasn’t much he wouldn’t be alright with at this point. “What about you?”

“I wasn't recognized on my way in. Doubt I would be on my way out.” She shrugged. “Besides. This place is changed. There's barely any of the old populace here to remember me.” She held the roped bed sheet toward him. “Okay, lean forward.”

Thor obeyed, and she looped it around his neck. 

When she went to do the same for Loki, Thor caught sight of the two abandoned vials, lying undisturbed on the floor in a sea of starlight. 

Hesitating, Thor reached for his—the one that was full—and he tucked it in a pocket at the front of his shirt, over his chest. He didn’t know why he did it. Maybe as an apology that he knew he’d need to make. Maybe a habitual need to smuggle everything that was theirs. Besides, Loki had mentioned how long he’d spent trying to get a hold of the substance. It felt wrong to just leave the last of it lying there, unattended, for anyone to find or discard.

Sometime in the midst of his thinking, Val urged him forward, and Thor cleared his head of the thoughts.

“Let’s get him up,” she said.

Together they heaved Loki to his feet. Half-asleep, Loki swayed, legs unsteady, and it took a good few seconds for them to get his body over Thor’s shoulders. Waist on his neck, head hanging on one end, legs on the other. Too light, Thor thought, far too light. 

Val threw a pillowcase around Loki’s head, blinding his face to any onlookers. Then she turned to Thor. 

With the loss of his vision looming, Thor was struck with an absurd fear that she would lead them straight to the Grandmaster.

Val frowned. “You alright?”

“Yes, I just . .  This is a lot.” Thor inhaled deeply. If either of his hands were free of holding his brother, he would have pressed his fingers to the obedience disc on his neck. Or better, to the cut on his wrist. Instead, he settled for touching the vial he’d stowed away in his pocket, reassuring himself of its presence. “I don’t think we’ve left the palace since we got here. Or this tower. We barely even leave this room.”

She touched his arm.

It felt so strange to be touched like this. Fingers pressing into his muscles in a show of comfort. Not lust. Not hate. No strings attached. Loki was the only one who touched him like it these days—but even then, his touch had become tainted. Mired with poison from all the other ways they'd been forced to touch.

When she let go, Thor blew out a breath of—of what? Yearning? Relief?

“I know what I’m doing,” she said. “You can trust me. I’ll get you out of here, and you’ll never have to see this place again.”

Swallowing, Thor gave her a shaky nod. He wanted to believe.

“You ready?” she asked.

With Loki's dying breath tickling the fabric of Thor’s shirt, Thor nodded. “Yes.”

She pulled a second pillowcase over his head and tugged at the rope she’d bound around his neck. “Keep it taut, and I won’t lead you astray,” she said. “I swear it.”

When she took a step forward, Thor followed.

…

Moving out of the palace without being able to see was a terror all on its own.

All around him, boots and heels clicked across the tiled floors. Chatter, giggles and laughter, and an array of different languages smothered the air, churning in and out of Thor’s eardrums. He bumped shoulders with some, even had to lean out of the intrusive touch of others. One passer-by took hold of Loki’s ankle, and Thor had to tear the two of them free.

Even worse was his struggle to follow Val’s footsteps. She led him straight where she could and did her best to guide him with a palm to his chest at others, but with Thor’s mind elsewhere—the rise and fall of his brother’s chest, the shared air of his brother’s rapists, and the unknowing of what was ahead, what was behind, what was side-to-side—it was hard to concentrate.

With so many people in the halls, Thor knew the party must be ending, and his limbs locked up at the idea of the Grandmaster traveling out into the crowd and catching sight of the three of them. His breath was coming fast, and his ears were roaring, and the fear was drowning him, paralyzing him.

_ What would Loki say?  _ he thought as he took it one step at a time. Right and left, right and left.

And he knew what Loki would say: the Grandmaster was the last to leave parties unless he had reason, and reason would never have him leave a party like a commonplace guest in a crowd. They were safe in the numbers. They were safe.

As safe as they could be anyway.

One of the passers-by had stopped to talk to them, and Thor almost ran into Val before he heard the feminine voice ahead.

“I didn’t see you at the party. Or  _ them _ ”

Thor went still.

“We got there pretty late,” Val said smoothly. “Got some drinks, played around, and left. Kinda like to keep ‘em to myself, you know?”

“Oh, I don’t blame you.” Footsteps crept over to where Thor stood, and every muscle in Thor’s body went rigid. “They do look to be quite the specimens.” 

A hand probed at the muscles of Thor’s abdomen—and then it dipped to his crotch and squeezed.

Thor jumped.

Delight laughter spilled from the stranger’s lips, throaty and loud. “Mmm, yes, this one in particular. Very nice. Very well-built. You have fun with him for me, alright?”

“Oh, I will,” Val said.

The bed sheet around Thor’s neck tugged, and Thor obeyed, eager to leave the woman behind.

They passed another couple of guards who asked Val how the party was, to which Val responded much the same as before. As the crowds thinned in the corridor beyond, Thor’s uneasy paranoia began to cool. Following the Valkyrie became easier and easier the more they walked, as Thor began to infer the sound of her boots hitting the tiled floor and the subtle tugs to the rope around his neck.

Thor lost himself to the anxiety of his brother on his shoulders. Would it still be an hour? More? Less?

(Would he get to say goodbye?)

After they stepped through what had sounded like a door, Val held a hand to Thor’s chest to stop him.

Behind them, the door slid closed.

“Sorry,” she said. 

Thor frowned beneath the cloth. “Why?”

“That prick. I didn’t think she would touch you.”

“Oh,” Thor said. In truth, the woman had been the farthest thing from his mind, but he wasn’t about to tell Val so. He didn’t want to explain  _ why  _ it hadn’t bothered him, after all.

He heard a string of beeps ring in the air and then the floor lurched. Thor stumbled sideways into the wall, and Loki’s boots hit the metal with a resounding thump. Thor winced.

“It’s okay. Just an elevator. We’re almost out.” Val touched his arm again.

Without thinking, Thor flinched away, and a silence descended upon them, awkward and stiff. “How did you get it to run?” he asked to soothe the discomfort. “Loki and I tried. Before.” He winced at the memories, and pressed onward. “It’s password-protected. Speaking of—how did you manage to get into our room?”

Val loosed a low mirthless chuckle. “I used my old codes.”

Thor’s frown deepened. “You . . . what?”

“Yeah, I know. They change the codes pretty regularly. But back in the day, I didn’t show up often enough to hear about all the changes, and Ghast—the Grandmaster—he never wanted to bar me entry,” she said. “So he gave me my own personal code that would let me through. It doesn’t work everywhere. The hangar bay, for instance—I had to ask every time for that one.” A pause. “But for the palace . . . well. I guess Ghast forgot about it. Lucky for you.”

The elevator started to roll to a stop. Thor felt an overwhelming flood of affection for this woman—this Valkyrie he had somehow happened to meet on Sakaar. Who had become one of his own. Who had traveled across the galaxy to rescue him and his brother from this horrific fate. “Val,” Thor murmured, his face burning beneath the fabric.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

Val touched his arm a third time, and this time, Thor didn’t tense or pull away. He allowed it to be a balm to his scars—because she would keep them safe, she would find a way to keep Loki alive, and she would get them out of here.

The elevator stopped.

“Ready?” Val asked.

Thor inhaled deeply. He could be brave again. He could believe again. “Ready.”


	5. V

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Warnings for this chapter: referenced dubcon/noncon, incestuousss, a panic attack, continued suicidal ideation**
> 
> Again, thank you so so so much for comments!! I figured posting something was preferable to y'all over me waiting until I have time to respond for all of them. (school be kicking my ass.) But seriously, comments/support/etc mean so much to me, and I appreciate every single one of them <3 <3 <3
> 
> This chapter.. well, idk how I feel about it. But I'm super sick of looking at it, so it's coming out. Sorry if it sucks D: (the next one will be longer)

Thor took one step outside—and everything ceased to matter.

Beneath the folds of the pillowcase over his head, his nostrils flared and his lips parted. The stink of garbage and rot flooded every lungful, but no trace of perfume lingered unwanted in the air. Disgusting as it smelled, Thor could still taste the atmosphere’s evening chill and unending supply of unstilted air. A gust of wind crept beneath his loose clothing and aired him out for a chill—a chill not of air conditioning or drug withdrawal or rising out of a bath, but—but a chill of  _ nature _ .

Thor wanted to cry.

After a moment, he did.

The rope tugged hard at his neck, but he was too overwhelmed to follow. Too in awe.

“Hey,” Val whispered at him. “What’s wrong?”

Thor blinked through his tears. “Sorry, I just . . . I’m just . . .” There was no way to describe how utterly lost he felt. No four walls surrounded him. The disc at his neck couldn’t stop him. If he wanted, he could walk in one direction till the very end of the world. If he wanted, he could sit down right here, remove his bindings, and stare at the sky.

It was a wanderlust he no longer recognized. Freedom maybe, but freedom sounded so weak of a word.

“Is anyone around? Can we take off the—” Thor gestured as best he could, still holding his brother, to the pillowcase covering his head. 

There was a moment. Then Val removed it and the loop of fabric around his neck.

Thor looked at the stars. There was the moon—three moons actually. He’d never known. The smog he’d seen hung over the city, but in the distant plateaus, there was clear, cloudless blue behind the portals to other worlds.

“How long have you been held here?” Val asked.

Without once tearing his attention away from the sky, Thor shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe a year. More, less, I don’t know.”

When he finally met Val’s gaze, her face was disarmed. Guilt weighed on her eyebrows and down-turned lips, and concern shone bright in her eyes. Her eyes flickered to Loki and then back to his. 

Thor suddenly remembered that time traveled differently elsewhere. “How long has it been on the outside?”

“Just a couple weeks since I last heard from you,” Val said. Her expression smoothed, and she glanced around. “Come on, we need to hurry. It’s not safe to be out after dark. Or during the day for that matter.”

Thor followed her. 

His senses absorbed every scene they passed. Buildings made of scrap metal spanned the streets with no particular order. Close to the palace, the architecture was sturdy. Cobblestone paths, archways, stairs, and ramps showed an eye even for some artistic detail. However, as Val led them further out, the surroundings deteriorated.

Roads shifted to cleared paths between broken glass and heaps of garbage. Paint became chipped, stacked barrels leaked their contents, and even occasional bodies adorned the alleyways. Thor steered clear of them, not knowing if they were simply passed-out drunk or in the shape of corpses.

Somewhere in the distance, hoots and howling accented the silence, far enough away that Thor didn’t fear but close enough for Thor to recognize frequent screams of assumed innocents. A morbid hunger had him listening to each sound, sick as he was with the need for contact that was real, even if horrid.

They stopped at a building, crooked, barely standing, and Val let out a long breath. “Oh, good. It’s still here.” Without warning, she ducked and squeezed through a crack in the metal foundation. Once inside, she gripped one of the panels and yanked it free to leave a wider crack. “Come on. Help me get him through.”

Thor bent and lowered Loki from his shoulders. As he passed his brother to Val, a soft moan spilled from Loki’s lips. 

“Where—where am—where—” Loki gasped. His hands tore at the pillowcase wrapped around his face.

“Loki, calm down—” But Thor’s voice only seemed to further exacerbate his brother’s panic.

Loki struggled in the Valkyrie’s grip, limbs jerking and flailing, even when she tore the cloth free from his head. “Please don’t—please let us go—please let us just  _ die _ —”

Thor tried to squeeze Loki’s foot in a gesture of comfort, but he was too far to reach.  “Loki—”

“Thor,” Val hissed. “I got him. Get in before people hear us and start looking.”

For a moment, he couldn’t move.

Loki’s choked words of panic were hypnotizing—full of _no_ ’s, and _can’t_ ’s, and _won’t_ ’s and _stop_ ’s, and they streamed out of his lips as if they’d been building up and beating against the walls of his throat, just waiting for a chance to spill. Thor selfishly feared Loki would mention something, something that would reveal the things Thor had done, the things that had been done _to_ him, but Loki was too incoherent for sense as Val dragged him further inside.

“Thor,” she hissed at him a second time.

His stupor broke. Thor gave a nervous glance behind him—but the streets were empty and the shouting in the distance was far. He ducked his head and squeezed himself through the hole in the building. The top of the space pressed down on him, and Thor had to shimmy along with his elbows. How Val had managed to stuff herself and Loki through the tight confines was beyond him.

When he looked up, he found Val beneath a second hole in the building’s plastic floorboards. She had Loki in her arms, his head to her shoulder, one hand holding his chin and one hand restraining his limbs.

His eyes were wide, and he was still thrashing and twisting.

“What can I do?” Thor gasped.

Val shook her head without taking her eyes off Loki. 

“Just don’t hurt him,” Loki was saying. “You don’t need to hurt him, you have me, you have me. Please just . . . I can’t watch you hurt him, I can’t . . .”

Thor’s heart plunged.

“No one’s going to hurt him,” Val said as she angled his head. “He’s right there. He’s fine. See?”

Loki’s eyes went over him, as if he was seeing nothing.

“All you gotta do is stand up. Just stand up.” Gently, Val nudged his shoulders with hers, urging him upward, but Loki simply began struggling anew.

“ _ No _ ,” Loki cried. “No, I won’t, I won’t, I won’t anymore, I won’t let you  _ toy  _ with me. Not until—not until you let him  _ go _ —”

“Loki,” Thor said. “I’m fine.”

He crawled forward to touch Loki’s outer thigh, but the second his hand brushed the leather of Loki’s pants, Loki started shrieking. He twisted out of Thor’s grip and flailed in Val’s arms, and he was wailing and shouting incoherently—and Thor knew what it meant, even if Val didn’t. 

Flashbacks pressed in on him: Loki beneath him, Loki’s lips around his cock, the Grandmaster’s hand in his black hair, that sickly sweet voice, “so good, you’re doing so good, sweethearts, keep going, keep it, hah, keep it  _ up _ , if you know what I mean,” and—Thor’s stomach writhed. He had to grind his teeth together to keep from vomiting. Every breath drained him.

A sharp clap of sound cut into Thor’s disgust.

Thor blinked. 

Val had slapped Loki. She had slapped his  _ brother  _ on the face. Red rushed through his vision, and Thor wanted to take her arm and snap it in half. But then he heard the silence—the lack of Loki screaming and the stillness to his limbs, and Thor took a moment to reassess. Loki’s owlish eyes were sobering, and this time, when they passed over Thor, Loki seemed to recognize him. He wasn’t panicking anymore, and he wasn’t speaking nonsense. He was lucid. Present.

“You’re outside of the palace,” Val said in a firm but gentle voice. “The Grandmaster isn’t here. You’re safe. Thor is safe.” Loki started to shake his head, but Val spoke before he could argue. “We need you to keep as quiet as you can. Just stand up and crawl through there.  See?”

Though reluctant, Loki’s chin lifted as he looked toward the hole in the floorboards above.

“Yep, right there. Come on, I’ll help you.”

To Thor’s relief, his brother obeyed. Loki disappeared into the room above with Val close on his heels, and Thor scrambled after them.

The room was a storage closet transformed into some kind of abandoned living space. On one side, there were tools and broken devices and salvaged metal parts while on the other side, there were bags of rotten food. A cot rested in one corner—the bare bones of a mattress and hardly comfortable. Long dried blood was smeared in lines across the floor toward the exit.

Loki was choking, one hand pressed to his mouth. “It—it  _ smells _ .”

And he wasn’t wrong. Thor himself reared back as the stench of rotten flesh sunk into his lungs and twisted in his stomach. He gagged on it.

Even Val’s nose was wrinkled as she spoke. “Yeah, smells recent. Probably someone was found hiding here. Killed and dragged off, I’d bet.”

It took all of Thor’s effort not to wretch.

Val had untied one of the bed sheets and she spread it on the bloody mattress. Understanding her intent, Thor curled his arms around Loki’s arms and guided him toward it. Loki’s eyes were wide again, his body vibrating with tension, and panic lurked in the creases around his eyebrows and the tautness of his lips.

By the time Thor laid him down, Loki was murmuring again—a series of endless  _ no _ ’s only broken by the occasional gasp or moan of pain.

Thor glanced at Val. “How’d you know about this place?” he asked.

As she unwound the other blankets, Val twitched her shoulders in a shrug. “It’s an abandoned warehouse I found a long time ago. When I first landed on Sakaar and needed a place to lie low at night. Most people here don’t know about it. Mostly because it always looks like it’s falling over. Urges people away. Seems like that’s still true, at least.”

The answer filled him with so many more questions, but something about Val’s expression warned him not to pry. He knew well himself the danger of being asked questions he was unwilling to answer.

Instead, Thor turned to his brother.

Black curls spilled over his shoulders, inches longer than Thor had ever seen him keep it. His eyes stretched wide and glassy, and his entire body shook. Thor pressed the back of his hand to Loki’s forehead, only to wince at the burn. Sweat soaked Loki’s pale, gaunt skin. But he wasn’t muttering to himself anymore. He was at least half-lucid once more.

“It hurts,” Loki said to him, “it hurts.”

Thor cupped his cheek. “Where?”

“Everywhere—everywhere. Here.” Loki gestured to his torso. “It—it’s burning. I can’t—think—”

“Turn him on his side,” Val said without looking. 

Thor tugged on Loki’s shoulder, but Loki went rigid and tense. Fingers clawed into the front of Thor’s shirt. “I’m scared.”

“I know,” Thor said, throat sore, “I know. Val’s going to find you an antidote—”

“No,” Loki gasped. “Of him. I’m scared of  _ him _ .”

Ice clogged Thor’s veins. His jaw clenched shut, and he didn’t dare speak—not with Val listening.

Loki’s tugged at the pockets of Thor’s shirt. “I can’t do it anymore, I can’t, I can’t do it anymore—”

“You don’t have to,” Thor said. “It’s over now. I promise.”

“You don’t get it. He doesn’t have to make me. Even when he’s gone, I still . . . still want to. Don’t you see? I’m ruined. I can’t come back, I won’t stop wanting—” Loki’s eyes flickered to Thor’s mouth, and his tongue darted to wet his lips. “I don’t want to have these thoughts anymore. I  _ can’t  _ have these thoughts anymore.”

The idea that Loki could voluntarily desire him chilled Thor’s bones—but no matter what Loki believed, it wasn’t his fault. It was the Grandmaster, who had invaded the sanctity of their brotherhood and ripped the foundation from the hinges. It was Thor for not trying harder, for not doing better. Maybe if he had, they could’ve escaped long before succumbing to this lust.

“It will go away in time,” Thor said because he had to believe it.

Miserably, Loki shook his head. “It won’t.”

“Yes, it will, and you’ll—”

“It  _ won’t _ .”

Thor hesitated. “Then we’ll deal with it. We’ll figure it out.”

A smile touched the corners of Loki’s lips, insincere and hopeless. He shook his head a second time.

“We  _ will _ ,” Thor repeated. Without thinking, he bent over and pressed his lips to Loki’s. It was one of the small things, the ones slipping through the cracks and melting into normalcy—but this time, Thor had initiated it. Thor had the power; and with it, he told Loki the things he couldn’t find the words to say:  _ you’re not alone. It’s the same for me, I’m just as ruined as you. And I say we can still believe in hope. _

Their lips only brushed for a fraction of a second, making no sound and relishing no heat. But one fraction of a second later and Loki was calming. He still shook, he still sweat, and he still trembled, but his hands didn’t clutch the pockets of Thor’s shirt quite as hard and his breathing sounded a little less ragged.

“Try to sleep,” Thor said. 

Loki let Thor roll him on his side, and then he closed his eyes. Their right hands knit together, Loki held Thor’s knuckles to his lips, and Thor trembled at every passing breeze of warmth that coasted across his wrist. Each breath was proof that Loki was alive.

Only after Loki’s breathing labored did Thor fill with shame.

He realized what he had done, what he was doing, and his head jerked to Val at his side.

The things he had said, once, long ago, ran vivid through his mind— _ it’s wrong for us to have sex _ ;  _ our friends would be horrified to know _ —and Thor wondered what expression she would have upon finding out their sins. Would she abandon them to Sakaar? Would she let Loki die and call it mercy for them both? 

Every inch of him crawled with apprehension, but when he took in Val’s figure, he saw that her back had been turned this whole time. Only when she finished un-knotting the last of the bed sheets did she look in his direction. She turned to pass them to him, and her expression was neutral—she hadn’t seen them kiss.

“Keep him warm. Keep him comfortable,” she instructed.

Outside of himself, Thor instructed his head to nod at her.

“I’m heading out. If I’m not back in an hour, then assume I got caught. Ship’s on the southern outskirts of the city. You can’t miss it—it’s the only decent one there. You get to it, you get Loki on board, and you set the navigation to Knowhere—that’s the closest system that might have an antidote.” She glanced skeptically at his brother. “If he can make it that long anyway.”

Thor gripped Loki’s hand. “We wouldn’t leave you here.”

Val gave him a look that said  _ you would if it was to save him _ .

Wisely, Thor didn’t argue.

After shoving the salvaged bed sheets at him, she repeated the passcode for her ship numerous times until Thor was able to repeat it back to her without trouble. Then she gripped his arm. “I’ll be back,” she said. “Remember? I know what I’m doing. Trust me.”

With his nod, she was gone, and Thor was left alone with his brother and the silence.


	6. VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hihihihi, thank you again for all the comments. as always, I will answer them one day.... maybe when the semester ends? because i clearly overestimate the amount of time i have lolol. anyway, this chapter is #yikes, enjoy
> 
> **warning for this chapter in particular: vaguely noncon/dubcon - occurring and also referenced, physical abusee, anoooother suicide attempt, and oh boy is there some suicidal ideation**

A year ago, give or take, Loki had been lying next to Thor in the biggest room of the most luxurious hotel that the Grandmaster could find on Knowhere. The Grandmaster didn’t sleep, but he also didn’t believe Loki or Thor had earned the privilege of a bed—so the two of them slept on the floor amidst extra blankets and pillows that the Grandmaster had provided.

(Neither of them wanted to sleep on the bed anyway.)

Feigning rest, Loki was listening to the Grandmaster yammering away at the hotel attendant—mostly about a disreputable lack of coffee—and the hotel attendant replying in low, irritated grunts. Nobody here knew who the Grandmaster was. Nobody knew to fear him.

At some point in the conversation, the hard muscles of Thor’s abdomen pressed to Loki’s back, and Loki shuddered at the brush of his brother’s breath against his cheek. Even after a couple weeks of captivity, Loki’s body was already learning, already embracing the lust of such things.

“I don’t think he’s going to leave,” Thor whispered into his ear.

Loki remained perfectly still. “He will.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I flushed all the coffee down the toilet last night,” Loki murmured, “and when attendants came to fix it, I told them it was the Grandmaster who did it. The attendants won't help. He’ll have to go to management.”

Thor hummed in what sounded like faint surprise. Maybe pride.

Sure enough, a few moments later, the Grandmaster demanded to speak with their host, and there was the sound of a door clicking and the Grandmaster’s voice continuing its chatter all the way down the hall.

When the voices faded, Loki untangled himself from the blankets and his brother’s limbs and hurried over to the dresser, while Thor went for the nightstands. Loki searched through drawers upon drawers of clothes and necessities—wishing he could take out even a simple, flimsy pair of breeches and conceal his bare legs, his bare cock. He couldn’t though, he knew. Clothes were also a privilege he and Thor hadn’t yet “earned.”

“Found it,” Thor said from the other side of the room.

Loki slammed the drawers of the dresser shut and took the device from Thor’s hands. The on-button was hidden, but when he found it, he drove his thumb into the circular indent, and the screen lit up with a welcome holographic. It was charged.

“Thank the Norns,” he muttered, and slid through the screens until he found the off-world messaging app. “Alright, you guard the door.”

Thor didn’t move; instead, he eyed the comm-link with a sharp desire. “Why can’t you guard the door and I be the one to call her?”

There were a million answers to that question: because Thor wasn’t good enough at hiding things from the Grandmaster, because Thor was better at the simple tasks, the straightforward tasks. Mostly, the reason was because Loki was lying to him. But Loki couldn’t say that. He said, “Because I know more about the Grandmaster. I’ll be able to give better information in a shorter amount of time.”

Though reluctant, Thor nodded.

“If he’s coming,” Loki added, “knock something over to warn me. I’ll hear it”

“Knock something over,” Thor repeated, eyebrows raised.

Loki gave him a look. “Yes. Break something. That vase by the window should do. Or would you rather explain to him why you’re shouting ‘he’s coming’ instead?”

Thor looked like he was going to argue, but with a second look at the screen, irritation vanished from his face and was replaced by an uncharacteristic shame.

“Don’t, uh,” he started and then guilt erupted on his face. His eye lifted to Loki’s, and the vulnerability in his expression drained away his age. “I mean, if you can manage it, if she doesn't guess, don’t tell her that—that we—”

“I won’t, Thor,” Loki said. “Now go.”

Loki waited until the sounds of his brother moved into the foyer of the hotel room. Curtains rustled and wood creaked as Thor presumably rested his weight against the wall. A moment after, Loki searched through the list of Midgardian recipients, which was longer than he expected but still a relatively small number. It wasn’t difficult to find the Valkyrie’s handle.

He called.

The sound of the dial tone rang in the room, loud and startling, and conscious of the noise, Loki closed the bedroom door and secluded himself in the furthest corner of the bedroom. He had just sat on the floor, back leaning against the bed, when the Valkyrie answered the call.

She was wearing armour—unusual for her, even after a couple days aboard the  _ Statesman _ —and her hair was done up in battle-ready braids. Loki changed the settings so that the hologram showed where she was. Behind her there was a silver table and a counter, along with a couple of bags resting upon the floor. Most notable was the metallic surface of the furniture—that, and the lack of windows. 

Immediately Loki knew: she was on a ship.

“Where are you going?” Loki asked, even though he could already guess.

The Valkyrie’s chin lifted. Suspicion weighed heavy in her eyes. “I don’t know,” she said, neutral. “I’m hoping you’ll tell me.”

Loki cultivated a confused frown, a slight tilt to his head. “What do you mean?”

“I haven’t heard from either of you in almost three weeks. That’s eight days since you were supposed to call.” She huffed a deep breath, but before Loki could get a word in, she went on. “Heimdall is looking, but he said you disappeared from his sight around the same time. None of my contacts out there have been able to reach you. So yeah. Here everyone is, worried sick, because the last I heard, you were headed for Knowhere—”

“Val—”

“And I’m all packed up, ready to go. After spending an entire three days convincing Heimdall to stay behind and lead the council. And  _ you  _ have the fucking gall to ask me what I’m on about?” The volume of her voice sent a crackle through the audio.

Loki winced. He’d hoped he could get away with less, but—the truth then. Or at least a form of it. “We found him,” he said, low and tight. “We found the Grandmaster.”

Her expression remained hard, but she didn’t interrupt him.

“We caught a glance of him on Knowhere and—look, I had to conceal us. He would’ve sensed my magic otherwise.” Loki paused to lick his lips, considering all the other things she had listed. “And—and our comm-link broke. We were so busy trying to track him down that we didn’t have time to get a new one. Until now.”

She raised one of her eyebrows. “Okay. So why aren’t you dressed?”

Startled, Loki looked down at himself. Of course, he’d  _ known  _ he was naked, but—the need to clothe for the call hadn’t crossed his mind. He was so used to people, even non-clients, seeing him undressed that the shame had withered away. But now it was surging full-force. He scrambled on the device to check what she was seeing, and—thank the Norns, the image of him cut off right above his waist. She wasn’t seeing his cock. She didn't know he was without pants. Loki scrambled for a blanket (mostly for her benefit), and wrapped it around his shoulders. 

“Sorry,” he murmured to her. “I was sleeping before. Haven’t put a shirt on yet.”

‘Uh-huh,” the Valkyrie said dryly. “And did you get the new comm-link before or  _ after _ sleeping?”

Loki tensed. Quickly he calculated the difference in their time zones. “Before,” he lied. “But, uh, it was late where you are on Midgard. We didn’t want to wake you.” He forced the stress from his brow and gave her a coy smile that he hoped looked at all sincere. The muscles in his mouth struggled with the foreignness of it. “Why, this is sounding rather like an interrogation. If I didn’t know better, I might think you were worried.”

At last, the Valkyrie’s expression seemed to cool. She leaned back, head against the chair, eyes flickering down to her hands fiddling in her lap. “Well, what do you expect? Going no-contact like that. Especially while you’re after someone like the Grandmaster.”

Loki shrugged. He was beginning to understand what none of them had known before he and Thor had gone on this voyage—the Grandmaster was not only powerful; he was invincible. Unstoppable. Eternal. “Yes, well. We honestly hadn’t known it’d been so long. The days have been blending.” And they had been. Sex and sleep, sex and sleep. He inhaled deeply. Exhaled slow.

“You holding up alright?” she asked.

Nervous, Loki studied her, but the suspicion hadn’t returned to her features. She was just asking. “As well as can be expected,” he admitted, because he didn't have the strength to lie. “Seeing him again . . . it was difficult.”

She nodded. “But you’re both safe? For the time being?”

“Yes.” It was hard to infuse the lie with any amount of sincerity. To his own ears, his voice sounded tired and brittle, and he didn’t know how she wasn’t noticing. Incredible—the things one might miss in a moment of trust. In a moment of naivety.

Loki ran a hand through his hair, shot a glance towards the bedroom door, and ensured the silence in the living area was lasting.

Then he turned to the Valkyrie more urgently with words he had practiced in the dark hours. “Listen,” he told her. “We’re close now. We almost had him before, but he—he slipped away. While we follow the trail, I think it would be better to keep a low profile. So . . .” He braced himself. “We’re not going to be able to contact you as much as we used to.”

Her gaze was hardening again, but not with suspicion; it was concern. “How long?” she asked.

“Maybe a month?” Loki saw her lips downturn and the bridge of her nose wrinkle, so he amended: “We can try in a couple of weeks if you’re worried, but—don’t be alarmed if it’s delayed again.”

“Alright,” she said, even as her head shook in unhappy miniscule jerks. “I don’t like it. But alright.”

Loki heaved a small breath of relief. Two weeks might be long enough. The Grandmaster wanted to return to Sakaar well within three, and the travel between Midgard and Knowhere would take at least ten standard days. With luck, she would arrive just after they’d all left.

“Well, I have to go,” Loki said. “We have to leave soon or else we’ll lose the—”

From the living area, there was a crash and the sound of shattered glass. The vase.

The Valkyrie frowned. “What was that?”

“Uh, nothing,” Loki said. “Probably from outside. You know how this place is.” He got to his feet, careful to keep the camera angled above his waist and paced over to the bathroom. “Anyway, we’ll call you in a couple weeks.”

But the Valkyrie’s frown had deepened. She leaned forward and was studied him anew, and Loki had to smother all his panic beneath a careless, unworried expression, even as he stepped into the bathroom and shut and locked the door. 

“Would you put Thor on first?” she asked without warmth.

“He’s not here right now,” Loki said, thinking quickly. “He’s getting breakfast. We’re leaving right when he gets back, so you won’t have time to chat.”

“It won’t take long. I just want to see his face,” she said, voice as sharp as ice.

“Well, you see—” 

Loki trailed off as he heard the door creaking open, and the Grandmaster’s voice trailing through. Exaggerated disgust filled his tone as he whined about the vase, the mess Thor had made of all the shattered glass. Loki heard his own name called, and he knew—he knew he was out of time. 

“Who is that?” the Valkyrie asked.

Loki sealed his face shut to emotion and pretended he didn’t notice the harshness of the Valkyrie’s voice. “That’s probably Thor now,” he lied. “I have to go get ready. We need to leave right away.”

“Wait—”

“I’ll tell Thor you sent your regards,” Loki said and ended the call before she could speak.

The second her image flickered out and the screen turned black, the emotions Loki had suppressed crashed over him. He choked out an anguished, sob-like breath and staggered to his knees. His hands trembled, his throat clogged, and he was blinking away tears. In this moment, he was alone—utterly and wholly alone.

But his job wasn’t done. The door to the bedroom opened, and the Grandmaster’s footsteps traveled over to the bathroom door.

Quickly Loki stuffed the comm-link under a pile of towels in a cabinet under the sink. He’d have to return it to its proper place later.

A knock on the door. A dangerously pleasant voice: “Lo lo.”

And in the presence of the Grandmaster, Loki stuffed everything away. He stopped trembling, his throat cleared, and he buried the tears under a fresh layer of apathy. This didn’t have to be real. None of it had to be real.

Slowly, he got to his feet and gave the room a last once-over. Nothing looked suspicious. Nothing could give him away. Hopefully the Valkyrie had taken his bluff, and hopefully the Grandmaster would just assume he’d been being contrary. 

Loki steeled himself and opened the door.

He heard it before he felt it. The whirr of wind, and a sharp crack splitting the air. 

One instant allowed Loki a crisp view of the bathroom tiles and a distant awareness that he was on his hands and knees. A second instant allowed for the sharp sound of Thor’s strangled shout. Then Loki’s cheek  _ stung _ . He gasped, his vision whitened, and he reached to massage the bone of his jaw with his hand.

Before he could, the Grandmaster grabbed him by his hair and sent him careening—straight into Thor’s arms.

“Funny story,” the Grandmaster said casually as if Loki’s vision still wasn’t spinning, as if Loki’s knees weren’t wobbling under his weight. “I get down to our generous hosts, and I find, weirdly enough, that this room isn’t allowed free coffee anymore. Can you believe it? And when I, uh, when I asked for a reason, do you know what they told me?”

“Grandmaster,” Thor said, even as his arms tightened around Loki’s waist, “I—”

“You didn’t do it?” The Grandmaster chuckled. “Oh, dear, I know. I know. You simply don’t have the ingenuity that your lovely brother has.”

Thor started to speak again (to growl), but the Grandmaster spoke over him.

“So, Loki, sweetheart. Want to explain yourself? Maybe you can explain, too, why Sparkles here decided to break a harmless vase upon my arrival? For seemingly no reason whatsoever?”

Loki pressed his lips together. Slowly, he detached himself from his brother’s arms and faced the Grandmaster. His cheek still burned, sucking the warmth from the rest of his face. Loki imagined it was red now and forming into a horrific bruise.

“See, uh,” the Grandmaster said in the silence, “I’ve got this theory. It’s just a hunch, but—I feel like maybe,  _ just maybe _ , that you  _ wanted  _ me to slap you just now. You  _ want  _ me to hurt you. To be rough with you. Is that it, darling? Is that what inspired you to do these—ugh, these absolutely insensitive things?”

It was clear which answer he was looking for. “Yes, Grandmaster,” Loki said without feeling. “That’s what it was.”

“Mhmm, I thought so, I thought so. You know, sweetie, if that’s what you wanted, all you had to do was ask.” An innocent smile spread across the Grandmaster’s face. “Sparkles, hun, why don’t you hold your brother down? Chest on the bed, feet on the floor.” A pause. “Oh, don’t be such a spoilsport. Go on now—or, uh, would you rather me make other plans for little brother tonight. No? Oh good, there! There, we go.”

Reluctantly, Loki followed Thor over to the bed. Thor tried to meet his gaze several times, but Loki refused—Thor would hate him for lying later, after all. He bent over the bed, face-first, let his bare ass settle in the cold draft of air, and hated the way his cock stirred from the anticipation of it all.

When the Grandmaster’s palm struck the flesh of his ass, Loki bit back a cry.

Thor held him down, but it was not of his own volition. His muscles were locked rigid, his knees were planted solid on the mattress on either side of Loki’s shoulders, and not a sound hissed from his lips, even when Loki writhed at the next blow. The Grandmaster was holding Thor in place. 

Somehow, his brother’s presence, whether humiliating or soothing, hurt Loki more than any amount of physical pain.

Loki closed his eyes and let himself float away to a place where he could hope beyond measure that the Valkyrie hadn’t been suspicious enough to start after them. That she would stay on Midgard for the arranged two weeks. That if she decided to come earlier ( _ please no, please no, please no _ ) that the Grandmaster would leave her alone.

Hours later, when the Grandmaster bored of striking and fucking and goading, Loki was allowed to rest. Thor was massaging his legs and working blood through his strained muscles. As much as Loki hated being touched by his brother now, he had to admit it was helping to soothe the remnant adrenaline coursing through his veins. The pain in his lower body lessened with every squeeze of Thor’s palm around his calves, every run of his fingertips. 

“So? Did you do it?” Thor asked while the Grandmaster was occupied with something in the other room. “Is she coming?”

Loki exhaled. He’d hoped to have Thor’s comfort for a while longer. “No,” he said.

“No?” Thor’s expression was blanketed in the dim light, but Loki could still hear the distress and bewildered anguish in his voice. “What do you mean no?” he growled when Loki didn’t answer.

Sighing, Loki rested his cheek on the pillow under his head. “I told her not to come.”

Silence. “You  _ what _ ?” 

“What do you want from me, Thor?” Loki spat. “Did you really think we’d make the call, she’d show up to save us, and everything would be alright?”

Thor dumped Loki’s legs onto the floor. “And why not? Why  _ not _ ?”

Loki’s cheek stung, and his ass stung, and his eyes stung, and he wanted Thor to just forgive and forget—because Loki was hurting too. Loki didn’t want this either. “What do you think would happen if she came here?” He tried to sound angry, but his voice only sounded tired. “What do you think the Grandmaster would do? If he caught her trying to free us.”

“She wouldn’t get caught—”

“We didn’t think  _ we  _ would get caught,” Loki half-hissed, half-choked. He waved an arm around the space between them. “Look at how that turned out for us.”

Thor grabbed his wrist and squeezed hard enough to bruise. “She  _ wouldn’t _ ,” Thor said, enunciating every syllable, “get  _ caught _ .”

“Excuse me,” Loki breathed, “for not wanting anyone  _ else _ to hold me down while he fucks me.”

Thor’s silhouette reared back, and his moonlit shadow surged across the wall, long and monstrous and black.

Before either of them could move, the Grandmaster returned, and both of them were forced to feign their sleep. And when he left again, Thor didn’t resume rubbing the tension from Loki’s legs, nor did he resume the argument. He just lay there, his back to Loki, utterly closed off.

Even though it took days for Thor to speak amicably to him again, it was then that Loki knew:

Thor never gave up. He never stopped hoping, never stopped fighting, never stopped trying. 

It was only Loki who could decide when to stop.

 

* * *

 

 

And now, on the outskirts of Sakaar, in an abandoned warehouse, swaddled in bedsheets and shaking of deathly chills, Loki had long since decided. He made the sounds of sleep, but he was not sleeping. He was waiting. He was keeping vigil.

Thor was staring at him. Although Loki’s eyes were closed, he could feel the draft of Thor’s breath fanning against his face. He could sense Thor’s gaze pinned to him, as if afraid to look away for long, as if abandoning his brother from sight alone would lead to Loki’s death.

Ironically, he was not wrong. 

In the terrified frenzy at being brought outside of the Grandmaster’s domain, Loki had clung to Thor’s shirt, and he had felt the hard, round glass of the second vial digging into his palm. The presence of the drug had comforted him. Soothed him. The ache in his stomach, the eruptions in his chest, the dryness of his throat—they had become temporary. Salvation was there, in his reach.

And while Thor had spoken nonsense words, Loki had smuggled the second vial from the pocket in his brother’s shirt.

He held it in his closed palm now. It took most of his concentration to keep from twirling it between his fingers, because Thor, he knew, would be drawn to the movement. He kept his hands still, his eyes closed, and his breath heavy and prone to the soft purr of snores.

At some point, Thor touched Loki’s cheek. His breathing neared; hot air puffed against Loki’s forehead.

But Thor never kissed his brow.

Instead, he withdrew his hand with a startled suddenness and shuffled away.

Loki waited several minutes to feel the returned draft of his brother’s breath, but it never came. He waited for the oppressing sense of his brother’s one eye boring a hole into his face, but it never came. Eyelash by eyelash, Loki peeled his eyelids open and looked for Thor—who was found, sitting near the hole in the floorboards, his profile painted in the silver of evening light.

He was not watching Loki.

Even after Loki waited for minutes longer, Thor never turned.

Slowly, soundlessly, Loki lifted the second vial and uncorked the rim.

It was a betrayal, he knew—but, in fairness, Thor had betrayed him first. 

Loki had never believed his brother would drink a poison meant to kill—he’d thought that his offer for Thor to follow would be enough to satisfy any guilt.

But in watching his brother stare vacantly out the window, Loki had found himself curious beyond measure. He’d wondered if Thor would take it. The first time Thor had gone to, he hadn’t meant it. It was a gesture—performative and insincere. But the second time, Loki had seen a deliberate glint in his eyes, a steadiness to his hands that had promised action. He’d meant it. And in his intent, he’d gifted Loki courage.

Of course, it was fate that Thor would break their alliance only in such a moment.

Loki lifted the vial to his lips. It was what he should have done the moment Thor had turned his back, instead of waiting, waiting, waiting for a comfort that would never come. It was what he should've done months ago in that stifling hotel room before the Grandmaster had plundered everything between them. Loki closed his eyes, his throat aching with thirst, not for water, but for  _ peace _ , and his hands started to shake with the end nearing—

Thor snatched it from his grip. “ _ Stop! _ ” he roared in a voice, terrified and raging and fragile all at once.

Salvation never met his lips.

“Why—what are—how _ could  _ you—”

Loki, in his surreal shock and with his only wish denied, turned to face Thor. “Give it back,” he said, low and sharp. “Give it back now.”

If it were possible, Thor’s eye went even wider with rage. “What?”

“I said  _ give it back _ !” Loki hissed. He lunged for the vial, but Thor reared back and hurled his arm as far away from Loki as he could without losing balance. Loki would’ve reached again, but even the small movement winded him. His stomach lurched and roiled, his chest thundered, and his senses burned white. He staggered on his elbows and trembled with an urge to vomit.

The time it took to steady himself was enough for Thor to clear his confusion. One fist curled around Loki’s upper arm and threw him back onto the blankets. His face was scrunched tight with rage, but there was a caution to it—an underlying current of concern. “You know where you are, don’t you? You know what’s happening?”

Loki considered lying—but there was no point. “Of course I do,” he snarled. “That doesn’t mean I care.”

Hurt flashed across Thor’s face, but it withered underneath the rage. “You don’t care,” he repeated back. It was not a question.

“I don’t,” Loki said, “so now that you’re satisfied of my mental competence, you’ll give it back to me.”

Thor’s fist—the one that wasn’t holding Loki by the arm—clutched the vial to his chest, knuckles turning white. “You would have me hand over the means of your suicide?”

“I don’t see what it matters.”

“You would have me watch you die? Again? By your own—”

“Yes! That vial is  _ mine _ , not yours—”

“But—”

“Do you even know what I had to do to get it? Do you know what price I had to pay?” Loki snarled. “Do you even  _ care _ ?” 

The question stripped the color from Thor’s face.

“Besides,” Loki said, as his voice trembled, “it’s not about what  _ you  _ want or what  _ you  _ feel. It’s about  _ me _ . It’s  _ my  _ wish.  _ My  _ choice.”

At that, Thor glared at him. “My feelings seemed to matter an awful lot to you before. When we—”

“Because it was going to be  _ our  _ suicide,” Loki blurted. After taking a ragged breath, unexpected tears surged in his eyes and rolled in streams down his cheeks. He was too weak to wipe them away, so he let Thor see all of his vulnerability—like pus brimming from a wound. “I asked your permission, and you consented. I waited for you—I wasn’t going to take mine until I saw that you were—and—and you didn’t. And then you made me . . . you made me throw it up! You  _ forced  _ me.”

The undercurrent of concern in Thor’s face surged, draining away the anger. His lips pressed together, and his eye strained, as if holding something back. “Things are different now,” he said.

“Are they?” Loki waved his fingers in the direction of the wrecked floorboards. “We’re still on Sakaar. I’m still suffering. I still can’t  _ think  _ of anything except how the last time we talked,  _ really talked _ , it was right after I fucked you for the first time, and ever since then—”

“Loki—”

“And  _ ever since then _ ,” he said over his brother, “all we do is sleep next to each other and fuck each other. I don’t want to live like that anymore.”

“You don’t have to,” Thor said. His voice trembled. “Val came for us. She’ll help us escape.”

“If you believe the Grandmaster will just let us walk out of here,” Loki said, “then you’re even more stupid than I thought.”

A flinch shot through Thor’s torso.

“And even if he does, it won’t change anything,” he hissed, white hot fury bubbling in his voice. “We’ll hate each other—”

Thor choked. “I would never—”

“You  _ will _ ! You don’t right now because—because we’re still here and we’re not free, but you will. Do you even know what the difference is anymore? Between hugging me, or holding my hand, or kissing me? Tell me. Tell me when— _ if _ —we get out of here, that we’ll go back to how we were. That you’ll be able to hug me without thinking of the last time we fucked?”

Thor’s brow wrinkled, his nostrils flared, and his one eye squinted with hot-tempered anguish. “Even if that—even if it were  _ remotely  _ true, you think that I would prefer you to die?”

“It’s easier this way!” Loki shrieked and he lunged for the vial again. This time, Thor was too slow to move away. Loki’s hands clasped around his brother’s wrists, he tugged with all his might—and when Thor wouldn't budge, he slammed his weak fists into Thor’s chest, half-sobbing, half shouting. “It’ll be easier. Cleaner. And it’s my choice!  _ My  _ choice! You don’t get to take it from me. Not after he’s robbed me of  _ everything else _ —”

“Stop!” Thor shielded his chest with his free arm. “Loki,  _ stop  _ it—”

“I can’t bear it, Thor! I can’t—I can’t bear it,” Loki sobbed, even as his effort weakened. “I don’t ever want to see you hating me, and I don't ever want to see  _ him _ again. Please, please, please . . .”

With a choked sob, Thor tore out of his grip and stormed several feet away.

“Thor,” Loki said, because despite the anger, he could see Thor thinking about it in his hunched shoulders and his pinched frown. “You don’t have to do it with me, but please—let me find peace.”

“Shut up,” Thor said, but it had no bite.

Still, Loki knew the danger of overwhelming his brother at a time like this. The mark Thor had carved onto his wrist proved it. Loki steeled himself, adjusted his tone from one of hysteria to one of careful, calculated logic—that had been what had worked before. “Thor,” he said, soft and slow. “I’m already dying. If Valkyrie doesn’t get back in time, I  _ will _ die. But it will hurt more this way.”

Thor turned his back. His shoulders were quivering.

“It hurts to speak,” Loki said, which wasn’t a lie. “It hurts to even breathe. If you—if you just let me have it, then it doesn’t have to hurt. I don’t have to be in pain.”

Silence.

Loki counted the seconds until he was sure Thor was at his most vulnerable, his most prone. “You don’t have to watch. You can just give it to me and wait for her outside. You can pretend the Grandmaster saves me from dying if you have to—just please—”

“ _ Shut up! _ ” And this time, it did have bite. Without looking at Loki, Thor sunk into the hole in the floor and started crawling out of view.

The thought of his brother out on the streets of Sakaar struck Loki with terror. Anything could happen out there. Thor could be seen, he could be recognized, he could be attacked, he could be killed. (The poison in the vial could be stolen from him.)

(Thor could drink from the vial on his own.)

_ No— _

“No. No, don’t you dare,” Loki hissed, “don’t you fucking dare abandon me like this. Get back here!”

Thor didn’t respond.

Loki freed himself from the blankets, and he dragged his aching body across the floorboards, fingers clawing at the creases. His stomach lurched. His head spun. His chest burned. Loki cried out at a spasm in his heart, in his lungs, in his ribs, and he collapsed, facedown on the floor. 

“Come back,” he croaked, even though he could hear Thor climbing out of the building and out into the street. Too far away. “I'll stop arguing. Just—Thor, don’t go.”

Because now he was imagining Thor drinking the poison, and he couldn’t stop.

There was a too-ready, too-recent image of Thor lifting it to his mouth, tilting his head back, lips parting. Maybe he hadn’t meant it at any other time, maybe he was against it now, but there had been that single moment—that single deliberate glint in his eyes—where Thor had intended to die. 

And then there were the cuts on his wrists. The newer cuts on his armpits. The fact that Thor had brought the vial with him from their room at all.

All was Loki’s fault. Because Loki was too drained, too dry, too broken to help him. 

Thor had stormed out in the heat of his rage, and—and he would hurt himself now. Loki knew this. So it was not a stretch to imagine him blaming himself for Loki’s pain. To imagine him thinking if one of them had to die, then it should be Thor instead. For Thor to swallow the poison in an impulsive flood of self-hatred.

It was unlikely, but in the throes of Loki's fear and grief, the unlikely expanded into inevitable.

Loki dragged himself another half-foot forward before his arms gave out. 

“It’s supposed to be me,” he whispered to his brother who had vanished.

_ It's supposed to be me.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can pry italics from my cold, dead fingers


	7. VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, sorry for the delay! I have no excuse... other than... I didn't want to lmao. (also, writer's block.)
> 
> Speaking of my writer's block, **a huuuuuuuuge thank you to[veliseraptor](http://veliseraptor.tumblr.com/) ([lise on ao3](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lise/pseuds/lise)) for beta-ing this chapter** and single-handedly enabling me to post it... because I am telling you I would have let this sit in my google docs for years if it wasn't for her spectacular critique and reassurance.  <333 thank you so much, lise. Also if you don't follow her blog and read her fic, you are missing out.
> 
> Anyway **for this chapter's CWs** , we got some pretty graphic self harm and violence, we got some reference to past noncon and a spicy threat of noncon, we got some faancy suicidal ideation, and HO BOY do we got some fucking whump (the medically severe variation, mmmm). So I hope y'all enjoy
> 
> now it is time for some **semi-spoilerish DISCLAIMERS** (which i hope do not disappoint you [@lookforastar](http://lookforastar.tumblr.com/) XD): I do not condone suicide. In most cases, I do not condone assisting suicide. I _do_ , however, condone an end to paternalism - which is, if u don't know already, acting like you know what is best for a rape victim without consideration to what the rape victim wants. this chapter is complicated. thor and Loki, their situation, and their relationship here is complicated. Of course, I would hope my writing speaks for itself, but I don't want anyone to be hurt reading this... so I feel it's necessary to state that just because something is portrayed as a "correct thing to do" in this chapter (which is arguable itself >.>) doesn't mean the nuances of the story transfer so easily to real life. Please, be safe. Find hotlines and any help available. Use them if you need to. <3 Ily
> 
> Okay now time to enjoy!

Thor crawled outside before Loki could talk him into it. 

He was angry. Furious. Exploding with rage.

He knew he should dump out the contents of the vial right this very instant, but he couldn’t. Loki’s words kept ringing in his ears.  _ My choice _ , he had screamed.  _ My choice. _

As if death were a choice.

Still, Thor found a stray basket of trash and wrapped the vial in a careful cocoon of plastic. He tucked it between two empty beer bottles so that it wouldn’t bounce around or spill. Even though he wanted nothing more than to shatter the vial across the bricks of a nearby wall, he couldn’t. He couldn’t. Because maybe—maybe later he would decide to listen to Loki—

His stomach twisted.

Thor stood. He took three decisive steps towards the brick wall and tried, tried to  _ think _ .

His thoughts were scattered and boundless; he couldn’t make sense of them. He gasped heaving breaths into his lungs and stared at his trembling hands. If not the vial, then something needed to break. Something needed to  _ shatter _ . He dug his nails into the cut on his wrist, but it was too healed to rip the skin. It stung, but it needed to be visceral and raw; it needed to be  _ alive _ .

And he had left the damned knife up in that tower, in their room.

(Left the knife, and took the vial instead.)

Thor paced. Back and forth, back and forth. His footsteps marred the dirt below his feet, and he wished he could sink, sink, sink into the planet’s molten depths.

_ My choice! You don’t get to take it away from me! _

A strangled roar ripped from his throat to drown out the words. He wasn't allowed to break things on Sakaar, but—but were they still on Sakaar? Did the street level still count as the Grandmaster’s domain? Did he still have to fear Loki’s wide eyes and flared nostrils and thin lips? 

( _ Not if you give him what he wants. _ )

Thor picked up another empty beer bottle and hurled it into the brick wall. It shattered. The explosion of glass ricocheted through the alleyways. Thor watched the pieces fall, but . . . it wasn’t enough. It wasn't enough. It didn’t  _ hurt _ .

His chest heaving, Thor took another beer bottle and drove it into the wall with his bare hand. 

The force of his blow forced shattered glass into the flesh of his palm, and it  _ stung _ , it  _ bled _ , but it was a dulled pain. He lusted for pain that was sharper, pain that traveled through the depths to his bone, pain that unraveled his rage. He needed more.

A rhythmic sound, half-cry and half-roar, bubbled up his throat, and he drove his boot restlessly into the ground.

If he was honest with himself, what he wanted to do, more than anything, more than even hurting himself, was to return to the palace, find the Grandmaster, and tear his monstrous limbs apart. He fantasized of the Grandmaster’s neck caving to the pressure of his hands as he twisted and twisted and wrenched the man’s head free. But he couldn’t. He knew that. Still, he wanted to try. He wanted to  _ die  _ trying.

Thor glanced at where he’d left the vial—

_ Do you even know what I had to do to get it? Do you even care? _

—no. No. That vial belonged to Loki now. It wasn’t his.

He knew what he  _ should  _ do. He should go back inside, keep Loki lying on his side, and count time until the Valkyrie returned.

And he tried. Norns, he tried, but he couldn’t take even one step back.

He curled his bruised hand into a fist and clenched until his fingernails were sticky and wet with the blood of his fresh wounds. All he could see, all he could  _ think _ , was Loki’s thin, gaunt face asking him— _ begging him _ —to let him die, and—and Thor thought maybe he was right after all. Maybe letting Loki go would be a mercy.

Who was he to say a life of pain was a life worth living? Who was he to beg his brother for anything after what the Grandmaster had done? After what  _ he  _ had done?

Roaring, Thor lurched forward several steps until he found an abandoned cart. With all of his strength, he hurled it onto its side.

Cans and containers toppled to the dirt, and Thor lunged into the pile and ripped everything in sight apart.

By the time he was done, he was surrounded by shattered shards of metal and glass—and he was trembling, writhing with heavy breaths. His fists shook as he held them up to the light, and they were sheathed in a bright red layer of blood.

“I can’t,” Thor murmured to himself. “I can’t.”

And he sat there, paralyzed and helpless. Running circles in his head. And he might have kept sitting there until dawn and then to dusk again, he might have let all of the fight trickle out of him like he was a wrung rag, if it were not for the creatures that approached him.

Thor didn’t bother to look until they were closer. Even then, he didn’t need to look to know who they were.

After all—the howling in the distance had stopped.

“What’s this?” one of them said.

“The clothes look expensive,” said another.

A third guffawed. “Someone’s pet then? Are you lost, friend? Do you need some help finding your way back to your master’s lap?”

Thor got to his feet and assessed the threat out of habit. They were scrappers. Most of them were of his stature; their leader was tallest, but not as sturdy. To his relief, none of them had tentacles or other strange appendages, although several had any combination of sharp nails, fanged teeth, and odorous breath that he could smell from meters away.

As fighters, they showed some promise. Dried blood stained all of their clothes, but little of it from wounds of their own. Still, they looked severely underfed. And from their postures and their grips on their weapons, Thor thought he could overtake them with ease. Even de-powered and weakened as he was, he still had centuries of training that they did not.

His fists spasmed. He wanted to fight—to  _ kill _ —but he managed to stifle the urgency. “I have no quarrel with you,” he said. “Go on your way, and none of you will be hurt.”

All eight of them fell into hysterics.

“ _ You _ ,” the third one said, “a whore, are thinking of fighting  _ us _ ?”

Thor simply stared at him.

“Wait!” another called. “Wait, I know this one!” 

The laughter faded off into a bewildered silence. One of the creatures pushed through the pack to the front and took a good hard look at Thor’s face. A grin broke across its scaly mouth.

“Well? Who is he?” the leader said.

“That’s one of the Grandmaster’s.” The creature’s lizard-like tongue darted over its thin lips. “You know. The one with the pretty brother.”

All pairs of eyes flickered to him.

One chuckled. “The one who  _ fucks  _ his pretty brother, you mean. Hard enough to make him cry, I hear.”

“Actually they fuck each other now.”

They were circling him, and Thor felt the rage exploding in his chest—it was alive and feral and flooding his veins and trembling through his nervous system, and this time, he had something he could destroy. This time, he had an outlet. He didn’t know if he had the willpower to stop himself. He didn’t know if there was anything he could do but surrender to the tide of its rage.

His hands clenched. His knees bent, ready to pounce. “Leave it be,” he tried again.

“Or what?” said the lizard-one in an imitation of a child. “You’ll try to fight us? I dare you!” A step forward and it drove its webbed hand into Thor’s chest, shoving him back. 

Thor took the blow. When the ones behind him threw him forward into the center of the pack, he took that, too. It was draining all of his energy to keep his shaking fists at his side.

“I bet his brother is out here with him,” said someone to his left. “If we find him and return them both . . .”

“We’ll get paid,” their leader agreed. He eyed Thor up and down. “But in the morning. No reason not to enjoy them ourselves. This one will be  _ mine _ first.”

A shiver of energy jolted through the creatures crowding around him. The sexual tension disgusted Thor, but he couldn’t help the images born of a sudden sickening lust—the lot of them naked, him  _ letting  _ them take him, because that was what the Grandmaster and Loki had taught him and it was all he knew how to do anymore. He could fight them, but he was shaking so hard and he was afraid that if he let himself be angry, truly angry, then he wouldn’t be able to shut it off.

For that reason, he thought of letting them have what they wanted. As Loki had often said, would once more really matter?

Then the lizard-one leaned in within arm’s range. “Fine by me,” it said to the leader without once breaking eye contact with Thor, “but I want first turn with the other one. The brother. That other gang—claimed they sold him some poison or something? Said he can do wonders with his mou—”

Thor snapped.

His fist shot up—straight into the scaly chin. The air thundered with crushed bone and cartilage, as its jaw impaled its brain. The creature fell limp. It was already dead.

The leader had something out—an activator for the obedience disc. But he was fumbling with the switch, and Thor was already neck-deep in adrenaline.

He stepped forward, slammed the heel of his palm into the creature’s throat, and wrenched the activator from his grip. The creature dropped, gasping. 

There was no point playing with the controls of the activator. Only the Grandmaster had the authority to remove the obedience disc from either Thor or Loki’s neck. Instead, Thor tossed it on the ground and crushed it with the flat of his boot.

Then he twisted his hands into the leader’s hair and broke his spine in one swift jerk.

There was a stunned silence all around him, and for a second, Thor thought he might be able to stop—at least, if they did.

Then they charged him.

Thor fell into the rhythm of the fight. He sidestepped a knife and it plunged into an opponent’s chest. A thud to his cheek threw stars over the expanse of his sight, and his vision went red.

He lost himself in it: snagging the one with the knife and breaking the creature’s wrist— _ can’t _ —slashing the knife across another’s guts— _ can’t _ —slamming the heel of his boot into the downed creature’s skull— _ can’t _ —until the blows, his or theirs, became an mantra that promised he could, he could, he could. And he killed. He killed and killed and tore them apart until he could imagine they were the Grandmaster himself.

In the end, one of them tried to get away. Thor caught him by the scruff of his neck and threw him into the barrels of a nearby alleyway. There was a crack—and a pained laboured moan—and Thor was pleased to see the creature’s legs sprawled in a mess beneath his torso. Thor stepped toward the creature that, out of all eight of them, looked most humanoid. Maybe from a sister planet of Kree.

As he approached, the creature’s eyes went wide and a half-shriek, half-whine spilled from his lips. His palms were up, facing Thor, and his muscles were rippling with tension, the way Loki’s often did whenever he was raped.

“Please don’t kill me,” the creature begged, “please, I didn’t, I didn’t say nothing about your brother, please, I don’t want to fuck either of you—”

Thor ignored him. Or rather he took the creature by the arms and inspected his hands. Crusted blood remained beneath cracked, splintering nails—blood that proved the creature had hunted  _ someone  _ tonight. This  _ thing _ , blabbering with fear on his knees, was not a victim. He was a predator. A monster like all the rest.

“I won’t say you’ve escaped,” the creature went on. “You and your brother—you can go wherever you want. I'll help make sure no one comes after you. Anything you want.”

Thor took the creature by his neck and pressed the blade to his chin. Cords of muscle went tense under Thor’s grip. “There were only eight of you?” 

“Yes! It’s just me now! And I won’t snitch.”

“No,” Thor agreed. “You won’t.”

He slid the knife across the vein of the creature’s neck, and watched as the blood squirted everywhere. Onto Thor’s shirt, his hands, his face. It tasted of iron. Thor held the creature, while the life leaked out of his eyes and his every breath choked throatfuls of blood. 

Thor couldn’t rip the Grandmaster apart. He couldn’t kill himself. Loki, though often tempting, was forever off-limits to his rage.

But this: hearing a monster beg before it met its end. Watching its blood pool onto the pavement beneath them. Making something evil into a corpse. This was something he could do instead.

For a moment, he felt deeply, drunkenly, truly at peace.

Then—he wondered what Loki would think were he to have seen.

Maybe he would be afraid. Maybe he would be angry. More likely, he would pretend not to care.

Thor released the creature’s neck and took one stumbling step away. The knife slipped out of his shaking hands and landed at his feet.

A better question was what would Thor have been willing to do if Loki had stood in his way.

And finally, Thor understood. This was his pain that he had channeled on the scrappers. This was his way of coping, even though he knew it was repulsive and evil and wrong.

What the Grandmaster had done to them—what the Grandmaster was  _ still  _ doing to them—it had left scars, scars that may never fade, and there was no way for Thor to heal Loki’s pain in an instant any more than there was a way for Loki to heal his. To claim otherwise was an insult to them both. They each had to heal their own.

Like a breath of fresh air, he knew what Loki wanted of him.

And he knew what he needed to do.

 

* * *

 

 

It was hard to find the way back.

Thor had lost himself in his adrenaline and forgotten his path. In the end, he had to return to the base of the palace and retrace the echo of Val’s steps from there. He used the unconscious (dead) bodies he’d seen as landmarks along the way, and whenever he caught sight of brick walls and smashed beer bottles, he looked around for where he’d left the vial.

Eventually he found it—and sank to his knees in relief.

Slowly he unraveled the vial from the plastic, painting fingerprints of red as he went. The poison was undisturbed and full to the brim, white and fizzy as ever. Its history existed only in Thor’s mind.

With a deep breath, he stood and stared at the entrance to the safe room—where Loki was inside.

He knew what he had to do, and he knew he would be powerless to change his mind once he did it. So he took a moment to reconsider everything that Loki had argued, searching for his motives, his fears, his hopes—because Loki was different from him and Loki would need a different form of persuasion than Thor had needed. It wasn’t as simple as a Valkyrie descending from the heavens to rescue them.

When he felt ready, Thor crawled inside.

Loki was lying, facedown on the floor, near a pool of his own vomit. Thor looked, but there was no sign of any of the black powdered poison in the bile—meaning Loki’s stomach must have already digested it. But he didn’t need to check for a pulse, because Loki’s shoulders were shaking with giant, rattling breaths. The sound of his teeth chattering filled the space in between.

In the time it took Thor to catalogue everything, Loki’s head lifted to look at him, eyes coasting over Thor’s body. Thor was uncomfortably aware of the red staining his clothes, his face, his arms—red that marked his absence.

“You came back,” Loki said.

Thor wasn’t sure, but he thought Loki sounded relieved. “Of course I came back,” he said, even though there'd been plenty of risk otherwise.

First, he found the discarded cork to the vial, resealed it, and folded it back into his pocket. Then he took Loki’s arms and hauled him over to the mattress. A vicious cough boiled in Loki’s throat as he was moved. Thor only noticed afterward that it had left blood on the bed.

Time was running out. Thor tried not to think too much on it.

Instead, he remembered what the scrappers had said about his brother and what Loki had said of himself. From the beginning of their capture, Thor had sheltered himself under the blanket of Loki’s protection, his honeyed version of reality, and for too long, Loki had suffered for it. For once, Thor wanted to do something right.

“What did you mean before?” he asked quietly. “What did you have to do?”

Loki blinked at him, languid and tired. “Hm?”

“For the vials,” Thor said. “What price did you pay for them?”

“Oh.” Loki’s eyes drifted away. “We don’t have to talk about that.”

“I want to talk about it,” Thor said, as gently as he could.

Loki shook his head. “I won’t have you storming out again.”

Thor was about to argue, but the desperation in Loki’s voice gave him pause. How many times had he heard but not listened in his brother’s most dire hours? How many times had he heard ‘we don’t have to talk about it’ and not listened to the ‘I don’t want to talk about it’? 

Loki seemed to interpret his silence as irritation. “Please, Thor. I’ll do what you like and see how this plays out. We don’t have to argue. Just stay.”

And that was it. Loki was scared that he would leave. Even now, he was scared for Thor's safety. 

Thor exhaled guilt. “I won’t leave again. And I won’t get angry.”

A scoff.

Carefully, Thor touched Loki’s shoulder. “Look at me,” he said and waited for Loki’s eyes. “I swear it. We’ll just talk.”

Loki’s lips thinned, but he didn’t tell Thor to quiet.

Wary, Thor asked again, “What happened to you when you went to get the vials?”

Red bloomed in Loki’s cheeks, and his green eyes turned to the ceiling of rotting steel. “I just said that to hurt you,” he murmured. “It was nothing. Nothing I didn’t expect. Nothing you need to know.”

Thor leaned forward. “What if I want to know?”

“I can guarantee that you don’t.”

“I do,” Thor insisted. “Whatever it is, I'll hear it. You can tell me.”

Loki eyed him. Then he said, without flinching, without tone, “I traded some scrappers all of my jewelry. It wasn’t enough for them, so I let them hold me down and fuck me one-by-one.” His tongue darted across his lips. “There. Is that it? Is that what you wanted to hear?”

His words were goading, but Thor didn’t fall for the bait. He closed his eyes and imagined Loki pinned to the floor as a line of aliens awaited behind him. Thor blew out a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, Loki’s expression had shifted from spite to uncertainty. He was confused by Thor’s quiet reaction; he was listening now. Good.

Thor rummaged in his pocket and showed Loki the vial.

“You kept it,” Loki said. It wasn’t a question, even if his eyes assessed the quantity of the poison stored inside.

“I did,” Thor answered. His throat ached. “Loki, you were right. I was wrong to deprive you of this. I was wrong to rob you of your choice. I am sorry.”

Loki’s uncertainty darkened to discomfort. “It’s not an apology if you aren’t changing your mind.”

Thor took a deep breath. “But I am changing my mind.”

At that, Loki went utterly still. His eyes were wide, and his eyebrows furrowed into an uncertain frown.

It hurt to see how little Loki expected of him, but Thor couldn’t look away. “It’s yours. And I’m going to give it back to you. But first . . . First, I hope you’ll listen to me.  _ Really  _ listen.” Thor took a breath. “And after I listened to you back up in our room, don’t you think you owe it to me to at least listen now?”

Slowly, Loki seemed to consider this. “If that's what it will take,” he breathed. 

Rather than relax, Thor stiffened. Loki had agreed, but this was only the first step, the wedging of his foot in the door. He sat down on the floorboards, legs crossed, vial cradled in his lap, and back as straight as he could make it. “You want your life to be on your terms,” he started. “Everything that’s happened to us—it’s been on his, and you want something for yourself. Something to decide, to control. Yes?”

Loki’s eyes were empty. “Yes,” he said. Softly. As if he worried Thor would rebel at too sharp a tone.

Thor simply nodded. “Right. So to you, it doesn’t matter that Val is here to rescue us, because the Grandmaster has already infected that choice, too. You want to be free of him, but you feel you won’t be, no matter how many miles you put between you. So you don't see another option.” 

He looked at Loki for confirmation, and Loki’s chin jerked in a brief nod. 

Thor went on, “And I could tell you for hours that you’re my brother and that I want you to live. That I love you.” He paused, and Loki’s eyes were getting glassy now and his lower lip was staining to stay still. “But that doesn’t matter either—because that’s me trying to make the choice for you. That would be for me. Not for you.”

Loki’s eyelashes fluttered, and he looked away. “Do you have a point?” And maybe he meant to sound irritated, but he just sounded sad.

Gently, Thor cupped his palm around Loki’s cheek and nudged him to return his gaze. Loki obeyed. Crystal-like tears ran in streams down his cheeks, blending into the feverish sweat on his neck and forehead. His lips were a pale beige.

“My point is this,” Thor said, and this was it, this was the turning point of his chance. “If we disregard the future and focus on the now—Loki, we’re free. We’re outside of his control, and we don’t have to see him. We don’t have to bend to his commands. And if he  _ could  _ control us  _ right now _ , which do you think he’d want you to choose? Would he want you to try to escape? Would he want you to find a way to live and be happy? Or would he want you to stop trying? To give up hope?”

Loki coughed on a miserable laugh. “I gave up hope long ago. In case you forgot.”

“Exactly,” Thor pressed on. “And that’s—who did this to you? Who forced you to give up your hope?”

“No one,” Loki said. “I lost it on my own.”

“That’s not true, and you know it.” Thor tried to smile, but on his face it felt more like a grimace. “Who did this to you? Really? Say his name.”

Loki’s lips trembled in earnest now. He closed his eyes. “I won’t say it, Thor.”

“Because you know it’s true,” Thor said. “You know it.”

Loki shook his head, but his silence spoke for itself.

“Loki, listen to me. You promised to listen.”

Reluctantly, Loki’s eyes blinked open.

Thor smiled at him with the fullest warmth he could muster. “You can hope again. You can believe again. You’re more than capable. But if you stay how you are, if you keep giving up—then he wins. If you end your own life—then those aren’t your terms anymore, Loki. Those are  _ his _ .”

Loki wheezed a tear-logged breath. “Thor, stop. I can’t—”

“Alright. That’s fine. I'm done,” Thor said in a rush. “Here.”

And though his heart rebelled, he pressed the vial into Loki's hand. 

Loki held it in the light and stared at it into what felt like eternity. 

Several times, his expression started to smooth with apathy (an aged echo of the night on the Bifrost, where they hung from the Rainbow Bridge, and Thor was screaming, and Loki chose to let go)—but then his eyes would flicker to Thor’s, and wrinkles would crease his forehead, tears would fill his eyes, and his hands would start to shake once more.

Thor’s chest throbbed with each repetition. He knew better than to speak now. He’d said his piece, and to speak would only push Loki from his precarious perch. More than that, it would be a betrayal.

This was Loki’s choice. Loki’s healing. Thor had no right to it.

Still, the waiting  **built in the core** of him. He wanted Loki to choose one way or another, so long as he chose it  _ now _ , and in the same breath, his lungs would squeeze and his heart would thump, and he’d think that Loki could wait until the end of the Nine Realms so long as he chose to live.

At some point, Loki’s grip tightened and his eyes clenched shut. “Stop watching me,” he gasped. “Stop hovering.”

_ He’s going to drink it _ , Thor thought with horrid fear. Still, he stood up. Every muscle in his legs, in his arms, strained as he shifted to turn his back on his brother.

Another minute, maybe two passed, and then there were the choked breaths of Loki crying.

Thor turned around to look. 

“I can’t do it,” Loki breathed without meeting his eyes. “Are you happy now? To see how weak and wretched I am to be persuaded by a few hopeful words?”

The vial rested in his palm, its poison untouched.

Thor’s heart skipped a beat. Joy. He was feeling joy. His body stirred with the foreign feelings—of his stomach fluttering, his chest warming, his lips quirking at the corners of their own free will. Then he heard what Loki had said, and he knelt next to his brother to hold his shoulders. “No, Loki,” he said. “No, you are  _ strong _ . What you are doing—what you are choosing right now—this is strength. This is courage.”

Loki’s lips pressed together, and his eyes narrowed on Thor’s face. But even if he didn’t believe, he at least didn’t argue. With a stubborn set to his chin, he emptied the vial on the floor. 

As if lost in a trance, Thor watched the liquid bleed into the floorboards. Its color shifted from the filmy white to a thin, translucent puddle, and if Thor hadn’t known the truth, he would’ve guessed it to be a bit of harmless water.

Something in him, that he hadn’t known was there, eased. He could breathe.

“Alright then,” Loki said, “let me see your hands.”

Thor frowned and looked down at himself. “It’s not my blood,” he lied—some of it was.

“Stop that,” Loki said, and the sharpness was a surprise. “Your arms are covered in glass, and you’re bleeding. Let me see.”

Reluctantly, Thor obeyed.

It was the first time Loki had cared for him since he had stopped eating or talking or trying—maybe it was the first time since they’d been captured or since they’d been children. Thor couldn't remember.

With slender pale fingers, Loki took hold of Thor, one palm at a time, and plucked the shards of glass free from his skin. His work was methodic and gentle. Thor could barely feel the sting, even as Loki’s nails dug into the deeper wounds, searching for any remnants of the broken beer bottles. Loki’s eyes scoped each square inch of skin, pausing at every stain of red but running over old scars as if they were not there.

It didn’t occur to Thor in an instant. It was a gradual roll into comprehension.

Only when Loki had finished freeing the last piece of glass—when he paused over the deep, unhealed knife wound on Thor’s wrist—did Thor fully realize the truth.

“You knew,” he said.

Startled, Loki look up at him, naked with unease. Then his face sealed its emotion, and Thor knew his guess was right.

“Yes,” Loki said, in the barest whisper, “I knew.”

Thor’s stomach twisted. “When?”

“Since the beginning, I think.” Eyes lowered, Loki reached for the bed sheet covering him and struggled to tear the edge into a strip of cloth. “It was . . . it was soon after he made me take you, yes? Nothing else calmed you better than whatever you did that night. And . . . I started noticing your wrists weeks later. It wasn’t hard to put everything together.” His pale lips thinned. “Help me tear this,” he said.

Unsure of what to say, Thor took the bedsheet and ripped it into two long strips. His heart was pounding, and each beat felt like it was squeezing his stomach. All he could do was swallow and breathe and hope that he would not vomit his shame.

In the silence, Loki took the first strip of the bedsheet and wrapped it around Thor’s palm. “I knew you were trying to hide it from me,” he said, “and I let you.” A pause. Then Loki’s voice started to waver. “I thought we were both going to die soon. I thought—I thought it wouldn’t be a problem for long. That I didn’t need to solve it. I’m so sorry.”

That shook Thor from his nausea. He took a second look at his brother and noted the strained worry lines carved into the bridge of his nose and the way his eyes were narrowed on his task, away from everything else.

“Why would you be sorry?” he asked, careful to keep his tone neutral.

“Because it’s my fault,” Loki said as he knotted the the second strip of fabric at Thor’s knuckles. “I know you think it’s his, but I’m the one who gave you no other choice. You needed to talk about what was happening. You needed a friend. And I couldn’t be that for you.”

“Loki,” Thor said slowly. “This isn’t your doing.”

Loki gave him a withering look. “You don’t need to lie to me.”

“I’m not!” 

And now he was going through all his thoughts again, and he was remembering Loki’s words that night before everything started to change.  _ Was it my fault?  _ he had asked, and Thor should have known even then what he was asking. He’d said,  _ I know that you resent me _ , and Thor had lacked all the pieces then, but now he could puzzle them together into what Loki thought.

He looked at his brother now and saw the same resigned face he had seen that night in their bed in the dim light.

Thor had to make it right. He knew what he had to say. The words were buried under the layers of stone he’d piled around his heart, but they were there, and it was just a matter of digging, digging, digging until he could uncover their corpse. To speak them was like re-calibrating his heart. He’d been dead, and now he had to remember how to be alive, how to live, and he was afraid he couldn’t do it right anymore.

“I—” Thor cut off. Swallowed. Tried again. “It’s not you.”

Loki’s frown deepened, but he didn’t speak.

Thor closed his eyes and heaved a breath. Then he stared at the floor, instead of Loki’s face. “I’m angry,” he said. “I . . . I hate  _ him _ . I want to kill him.”

Each word tasted like sandpaper.

“I can’t kill him,” Thor went on, slowly. His bandaged hands curled into fists and he drove them into his thighs, veins singing at the dull pain. “So I have to . . . I don’t understand it. Maybe I have to stop hating him, and that’s just what works. Maybe I just want to kill something else. Maybe I want to kill myself. I don’t know.”

Silent, Loki watched him.

“I can’t hate, and I can’t kill, so I make myself bleed. And it works,” Thor said. “And when I see you hurting—it goes that way, and it has nothing to do with you and everything to do with him.” Hesitant, Thor met Loki’s eyes and tried to read his impassive face. “Do you understand?” he asked.

Loki’s neck bobbed as he swallowed. “I think so.”

Thor nodded. He waited a few beats before he risked asking, “Do you believe me? That it’s not because of you?”

Loki’s lower lip trembled. “I’m trying to,” he said. “And if I can’t yet—it’s not your fault.”

The tension trapped in Thor’s chest released in one heavy breath. He held Loki’s hand tight, their fingers lacing together, and he tugged Loki in for a gentle kiss to his neck and to breathe in the familiar scent of his brother.

As they parted, Loki’s lips quirked in what might have been a smile. 

For a while, they didn’t need to speak. Silence descended, but it wasn’t a silence loaded with secrets or tension or fear. There was no threat of divulging something precious or breaking down into tears. It was only them: Thor and his brother—or his lover now, maybe—comforted by each other’s presence while they waited for something good.

Thor was about to ask Loki how he was feeling, if the worst of it had passed, when Loki’s head shifted abruptly to the right. At first, Thor thought he might be working out a kink in his shoulders, but it lasted too long. His neck craned, the muscles in his jaw went rigid, and his eyes—Norns, his eyes were rolling sideways in his skull. Thor could only see the very edge of his bright green irises.

“Loki,” Thor said, because he wanted Loki to be pulling a prank, a joke,  _ anything _ , “Loki, what are you doing?”

“Something . . . Something is . . .” Loki’s body shivered with tension, and then his head started in the other direction. “Thor,” he choked, one tiny, final word.

And then his body started to twist, his eyes rolled up, up, up, in his skull, and his lungs clogged. Breath that sounded like the throaty caw of crows laboured through his throat.

“Loki?  _ Loki _ ?” Thor cried. Desperate, Thor took him by his shoulders and forced him on his side to free his airway, but—but there was nothing else he could do. He knew what this was. He knew not to hold his brother down. He knew he had to wait it out.

So he could only watch. Loki’s limbs flailed, his spine twitched back and forth, and that horrid choked rasping went on and on and on.

And Thor wanted to scream. Because how could Loki, choosing to live, be betrayed by his body? How could he lose his brother just as he’d gotten him back? ( _ Again. _ )

Thor clung to Loki’s shoulder for dear life and waited. Even when the shaking subsided. Even when the silence crashed down.

It was too late to try for Knowhere.

All Thor could do was wait for his hope to descend from the heavens—for the Valkyrie to return.


	8. VIII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many thanks again to [Lise](https://veliseraptor.tumblr.com/) for looking through the first half of this and helping to soothe my worries and giving me some fantastically helpful edits!! -huge hug- <3 <3 <3 *_*
> 
> Anyway sorry for the delay! I decided to re-organize the last couple chapters, which meant I wanted to end this one in a different place, which meant... I had to write more... >.> And have many existential crises. But it's written now lmao, and I'm done freaking out, so maybe... the next update... will be quicker XD
> 
> I hope you all enjoy! *_* <3 Sorry. For. The. Cliffhanger...... NOT. XD

Thor didn’t know how much time passed before footsteps crossed through the gravel outside. He had Loki’s head in his lap, a finger at Loki’s vein for a pulse (labored but steady), and his other hand stroking knots out of Loki’s hair. 

When he heard the stranger crawling inside the building, he tensed—but even after so long, he recognized the Valkyrie. Maybe her scent, maybe her quick but casual gait, or maybe her shadow filling the opposite wall. Whatever it was, he relaxed.

Her head popped through the hole in the floorboards, and her eyes did one quick sweep of the room—marking Thor and Loki’s position as well as the nonthreatening shadows and corners surrounding them. Then her expression cleared, and she stood the rest of the way.

“Hey,” she said.

Thor noted a bruise on her cheekbone and a cut across her forehead. As she stood and dusted herself off, her weight rested with careful deliberateness on only one of her legs.

“What happened to you?” he asked.

She gave him a critical once-over. “What happened to  _ you _ ?”

Thor hesitated. “Got in a fight.”

“Well,” she said, “same.”

And with that, the intrusive questions were over. Val sank to her knees at Loki’s side and started rummaging through the folds of fabric at her waist. “How is he?”

“Not well.” Thor searched her face for any sign of dismay or hope, but she was impassive as ever, and Thor could read nothing. He had no choice but to ask. “Do you have the antidote?”

With a grim smile, she produced a plastic bag filled with some kind of colorless liquid.

It looked no different from water. Thor eyed it suspiciously.

“It’s been diluted,” Val said as if that explained everything. “Here, hold it.”

Thor lifted his hand from Loki’s pulse to take the bag. While he examined the substance—maybe catching a tint of some sort of color or texture, he couldn’t tell—Val took a syringe from her pocket, and stuck it in the bag. Thor watched the substance fill the inside of the glass, and suddenly his adrenaline spiked—

_ A different liquid, and a different needle, and the Grandmaster was feeding it into Loki’s vein. _

_ “Don’t look so jealous, Sparkles,” the Grandmaster said. “You’ll be next.” _

—Thor flinched—

_ His brother was sobbing and moaning and giggling all at once, all in a single, repeated word. _

_ Thor didn’t comprehend the word but he was plowing at the same rhythm into the body beneath him. Tendrils of drugged heat lashed through his limbs, urging him on—and it was half pain, and half pleasure, but it was all he could do to keep going. Harder and harder and harder. _

_ He sank deep—Loki’s choked cry—and his mind sobered for one instant. Loki’s eyes were scrunched shut, tears leaking from the corners. His arms were covered in hand-shaped bruises that aligned with Thor’s grip perfectly.  _

_ Thor’s body came. His cock sputtered into Loki’s ass—and the Grandmaster was clapping and in his hand was another syringe. Thor heard him say, “Now for round two,” and then there was a needle against pale white skin, and Thor finally comprehended what word his brother was saying: _

_ “Please, please, please”—  _

—“What are you doing?” he choked as Val held the needle to Loki’s arm.

She was frowning, but she didn’t move away. “I can’t find a vein. You got a strip of cloth or something?”

Thor didn’t answer. “ _ What  _ are you _ doing? _ ” he repeated, louder.

At last, Val stopped to look at him. Her expression was off-guard for a moment—her eyes wide, her brow wrinkled—but then it smoothed over, as if nothing had been there to begin with. “Thor,” she said firmly. “I’m not going to hurt him. I’m just giving him the antidote.”

The syringe said otherwise. Thor pointed at it with one trembling hand. He wanted to take it and shatter it against the brick wall outside. “Then what are you doing with  _ that _ ?” he growled.

She held it up in her hands, palms toward him. “Alright. How do you want me to give the antidote to him?”

Thor’s jaw snapped shut.

“We could squirt it in his mouth,” Val said, her voice steady as stone. “But it might choke him. Or he might not swallow all of it. Besides—it will work much faster if it goes right into his bloodstream. Don't you want it to work fast?”

Something in her tone at the end had Thor snarling, back pressing against the wall, and his brother folded as tightly as manageable in his arms. He only realized several seconds later that it was because the words sounded like the Grandmaster’s—the weighing of pros and cons and the playing right into what Thor wanted. Thor wasn’t as quick as Loki, but he knew by now not to trust it.

“I’m not fucking with you,” Val said. “I promise. I’ll put it in his mouth if that’s what you want. But I’m telling you that would be a mistake.”

In the back of his mind, Thor knew she was right. He knew he needed to calm down. But looking at the needle, the syringe, or even the scarred pinpricks on Loki’s veins—he couldn’t make himself stand down.

“How long has he been unconscious?” Val asked.

Thor locked onto the simpler question. He could answer that. “I don’t know. Since I came back. Maybe half an hour ago. He . . .” Thor swallowed an unbearably ragged breath. “He started seizing. He hasn’t—he hasn’t woken up since.”

Val nodded. “If he’s been seizing, then he’s in the late stage. He doesn't have long.”

Thor felt his adrenaline throb—but it was colder. More numb.

“If we don’t get the antidote to him right away, then he’ll die,” she said. “Personally, I wouldn’t waste time.”

At her words, instinct had Thor checking Loki’s pulse. Was he imagining it or was it a bit slower? Were there beats missed or was that simply the stutter of his own panic?

“Thor,” Val said. “Even if I’m lying—if it’s not the antidote—would you really rather he be spared a little pain only for him to end up dead?”

Thor blinked. It was an echo of what his last conversation with Loki had been—the choice between suffering and death, between hope and surrender. 

Loki had chosen to live. Loki had chosen  _ to live _ .

It took all of Thor’s strength, but slowly he relaxed his grip on Loki’s arms and struggled to look into the eyes of his friend rather than the sharp end of the syringe.

“What do I have to do?” he asked.

“Tear a strip of cloth from the bed sheet,” she said, “and tie it around his arm. Above the elbow.”

Though shaking, Thor obeyed.

“Good.” She scooted forward, arranged Loki’s wrist, and pressed her fingertips at the scarred inside of his elbow. “Now don’t look. Close your eyes or whatever.”

Thor took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and waited.

A few moments later, and Val said, “Alright. Done.”

His eyes opened, and he went for Loki’s pulse. Nothing had changed. His brother’s forehead was still covered in sweat, his breath was still rattling, and his complexion was still pale and greyish. But Val had put the syringe away, and Thor’s adrenaline was winding down—leaving him feeling rather foolish.

“Sorry,” he murmured. “I just . . .”

He just what? He was a traumatized pile of flesh that was pretending at being whole?

But Val didn’t push him into saying it. Instead, she unwrapped the cloth from Loki’s arm and used it to wipe the blood from her brow. “It’s alright,” she said tiredly. “The first few times I met your brother, I don’t think he could’ve strung a sentence together with how high he was. Can't imagine things were any different this time around. It makes sense you’d be nervous.”

Thor shrugged. He didn’t want to say that it was he himself who had been high the last months, more often than not. Drugs repulsed him still—to lose control of his body and leave himself at the mercy of strangers riled his deepest instincts—but sometimes he hadn’t had a choice. Sometimes it was either drink this, or take this, or snort that, or it was something worse. Maybe something that would hurt Loki. And those were things he couldn’t bear.

But Val wouldn’t understand if he told her his fear was as much for himself as it was for Loki. He’d have to spill his heart to her for her to know the truth, and he wasn’t ready. 

In his silence, Val propped herself against the wall, wincing as her ankle twisted with the movement. She leaned her head back, closed her eyes, and sighed one long gust of air.

“What now?” Thor asked.

“We wait,” she said, “and see if your brother wakes up.”

Thor shivered. He gathered Loki closer, letting his brother’s hair spill between his legs, and stroking stray locks from his forehead. Loki’s breath sounded a little clearer now. Less like his throat was closing off. His chest rose and fell at an even rhythm, at least.

It was quiet enough that Thor could focus on the drum of Loki’s heartbeat, but the unending pulse at his fingers was captivating, maddening. He was glad when Val spoke.

“So what was his game this time?”

Thor glanced at her, but her eyes were still shut. “Hm?”

“What did Gast have you do?” she asked. A pause. “I guess he’d need a new champion for his arena. Entertainment for the crowds. Keep everyone on Sakaar nice and distracted.” With a breathy, mirthless chuckle, she rolled her shoulders, working out the kinks in her neck. “I can see where you might fit the bill for that. He was impressed with your powers last time, you know. That’s why he kept you alive.”

Thor shifted uncomfortably. What was awful was that he could see it, too. The Grandmaster had used them—first for money, then for luxurious entertainment—and it could have been something like the arena just as easily as it had been sex.

It made him feel filthy. As if there was something carved into his skin that had swung them one direction, rather than the other—as if his affection for Loki had been tainted from the start and the Grandmaster had merely brought it to the surface.

He shook with a breath . . . and then realized the Valkyrie’s eyes were open and staring.

“Yeah,” he lied because he didn’t know what else to say, “something like that.”

She gave him a suspicious look, but even she, who had known the Grandmaster for maybe a millennia longer than him, couldn’t guess at the truth. It was too perverted, too  _ sick _ , and Thor knew he was right to lie to her. Her face would change with the knowledge. He knew.

“Alright then,” she said softly. “I won’t pry.”

And Thor couldn’t say anything to that either because it would be admitting his lie.

“I will say . . .” she said but trailed off.

Thor waited, but her hands simply went to her forehead, and the heels of her palms dug into her eyes. She was shaking with something (laughter, he realized, miserable laughter), and Thor jerked at how reminiscent it was of Loki, whenever he was in pain. “What?” he asked, if only to make her stop.

She lowered her hands from her face and shook her head. “Norns. It's nothing. Just that—damn. I’ve become awful at this.”

Thor frowned. “At what?”

“This.” She waved her hand between them and smiled, lips tilted to one side and utterly mirthless. “Apologizing. Talking. Shit, even listening for that matter.”

He was about to say that she had nothing to apologize for, but being a tired argument, it took him a moment to work up his strength.

By then, Val had gone on. “A fool would know something awful has happened to the both of you. And I thought so, the second Loki called me from Knowhere.” She sighed. “He sure was a clever smart-ass. If he’d shown me your face, I would’ve had no doubt about what he was up to. You’re a terrible liar.”

Thor winced. But this was easier territory. “You wouldn’t have had to guess if I’d been the one to call. I didn’t want to lie.” Lingering resentment built in his throat as he gestured to his brother. “That was  _ his  _ plan.”

“I’m not surprised,” Val said. She laughed again, worry lines showing on her brow. “If it makes you feel better, him lying didn't change anything. I headed for Knowhere the second he hung up. Still didn’t get there in time, I guess.”

“Val,” Thor said, surprised.

Her eyebrows tilted as she looked at him.

Thor dug for something that was true. “I . . .” A breath. “It’s not your fault.”

She snorted. “Oh, don’t. I’m not stupid enough to think this all happened because of me.”

“No,” Thor agreed. “But you feel guilty nonetheless.” He forced a smile, even though his lips felt tight. “You shouldn’t. On Knowhere, the Grandmaster had already . . . It was already too late for us. We were already . . .” His throat closed with each word; Thor all but coughed to clear it. “We were already hurt. Days before we were supposed to call you. Even if we all had done everything right, there was nothing you could’ve done to protect us.”

Val’s lips turned down at the corners, and she folded her arms. “Honestly? That’s the part I hate most.”

Thor thought of her past, of how all of her sisters at arms had died in front of her **,** fighting to bring down his older sister. She never spoke of it, but it was clear sometimes in the way she stared into the distance or the way she went quiet, that she had mourned a lover that day onward. Or at least, Loki had always suspected as much.

So Thor understood what she meant. “It hurts to feel helpless,” he agreed. His stomach lurched at the truth of it, and he sealed his lips shut against the nausea.

She merely nodded in response.

Silence stretched.

As minutes passed, Thor noted that Loki’s condition was improving. The beads of sweat on his face had dried. Crusted trails of sweat and tears coated his face, and Thor wiped them away with his sleeve. His lips were their usual pink, and his breath was so soft, it sounded like he was only sleeping.

Thor no longer felt the need to obsess over his brother’s pulse.

“Listen,” Val said suddenly. She hadn’t moved for a while, and her voice, while sincere, sounded stiff and rehearsed. “You don’t have to tell me what happened to you. Not now or ever. But I want you to know that you  _ can  _ tell me. If you want to. Or if you need to.”

Thor chanced a glance at her, and this time, when he met her eyes, he wasn’t seeing any hint of a threat or a stranger. It wasn’t that her expression or her tone or her posture had changed. Rather, it was that her words had cracked the defensive shell around him, and he thought that maybe he could trust her. Even if she was disgusted, even if she blamed them for what they had done—she wouldn’t abandon them.

She knew who the Grandmaster was, but more than that, she was their friend.

He sucked in a deep breath. Let it out. Forced himself to nod.

“I know,” he told her. “And I do want to. But not yet.”

Val gave him a weary smile in return. “I can live with that.”

 

* * *

 

At some point, Thor must have fallen asleep, for he was awoken by a sound—a low but sharp murmur across the room. There was no weight in his lap, no feel of a pulse at his finger, and Thor’s eyelids snapped open, desperate for proof of his brother’s well-being.

Loki was sitting near the Valkyrie in the opposite corner of the room. His eyes were bright and lucid, and his face was a healthier color, even if the bags under his eyes remained concerning. He and Val were arguing about something—their gazes kept going to a water can in her hand—but they were keeping their voices too low to understand.

Thor’s breath caught in his lungs as he processed what he was seeing: Loki alive. Loki well enough to be bickering.

As he moved, the two of them went silent and glanced over at him, and Thor could not contain himself any longer. He lurched forward, arms wide, and pulled Loki in—for a kiss or a hug, he wasn’t sure, and neither was Loki. Their heads went back and forth with indecision until Thor led them into an awkward sideways embrace. The top of Loki’s head pressed against Thor’s cheek, and by the time they parted, Loki’s cheeks were red and Thor’s ears were burning.

Thor chanced a glance at Val, who, if she hadn’t been before, was definitely giving them a strange look now. Nervous, he ran a hand through his hair. “You’re well then?” he asked Loki, hoping to distract.

“Better,” Loki said carefully. His eyes darted between his and Val’s. “Regarding what we spoke of earlier, I’m sorry. For . . . worrying you.”

Thor blew out a relieved breath. “No need,” he said, clasping Loki’s shoulder. “You’re alright, and that’s all that matters.”

Loki gave him a shy smile. 

“Alright,” Val said after a moment. “Enough of that. Convince your brother to drink some water, will you?” She held the water can in Thor’s direction. “Loki’s been fighting me about it since the moment he woke up.”

Thor gave Loki a look, to which Loki’s expression hardened. “He,” Loki said, pointing at Thor, “got in a fight while you were gone. And I’m willing to bet that he hasn’t had water since we left the palace. Have you?” He glared at Thor, and Thor could do nothing but shrug. “And you,” he said to Val, “are the only chance we have of getting out of here. You both need it more than me.”

“Loki,” Thor said carefully. “You need to recover your strength. You almost died.”

“Yes,” Loki agreed. “Which means I am the weakest among the three of us. Your resources should not be wasted on me.”

Before Thor could launch into an argument over what constituted as “weak” or a “waste,” Val let out an audibly irritated sigh. “Alright, alright. You both drink half of it then. We’ve spent enough time here as it is.”

They both looked at her.

“Don’t even start,” she growled. “I ate and drank while I was out getting the antidote, and the dealer laced it.” She pointed to the scabbed cut on her forehead. “There’s the proof. Don’t argue with me. Just drink.”

Thor went first, mostly because Loki was adamant about not taking the water can, and he left a little more than half for Loki, hoping Loki wouldn’t notice. But Loki did. His eyes shot daggers the entire time he drank the rest of it—but he didn’t complain, so Thor counted it as a victory.

“Finally,” Val muttered. She got to her feet and swept the dust off her pants. “Alright, we need to move. If we’re quick and don’t draw a lot of attention to ourselves, then we’ll be out of here before anyone notices anything amiss. Can you walk?” she asked Loki. “Be honest—we can’t have you collapsing mid-way there.”

The muscles in Loki’s jaw tightened. “I believe so,” he said quietly.

She stared at him for a moment longer, but when he didn’t waver, she turned her gaze to Thor. “That ‘fight’ you got into last night—any chance someone will be after you?”

“No,” Thor said.

“You’re sure? Even if you scare them, these people will just come back in bigger numbers.”

“I’m sure.” Thor swallowed a sliver of shame. “I counted them. They’re all dead.”

The silence of her understanding made Thor wince. Then Loki’s hand stretched out and clasped around his wrist in a gesture of comfort. Thor could hear the words without even looking at Loki’s face— _ you did what you had to do _ —and Loki’s acceptance was all he needed. The shame faded.

“Okay,” Val said without questioning him further. “Let’s go. The ship’s only a couple miles out of the city. If all goes well, we’ll be gone in an hour.”

She turned to lead them through the tunnel in the floorboards, and Thor was helping Loki follow her before the truth of her words hit him. An hour. She was confident that they would be free of this place, of this planet, of the Grandmaster in no more than an hour. An hour.

Even though dawn had broken across the horizon, even though he’d barely slept and was hungry, tired, worn, Thor felt an energy in his footsteps that hadn’t been there in ages—maybe even all the way back to that night on Knowhere, when he’d feared no rescue was coming and that sex with his brother would be his life forever.

Thor’s heart skipped. Both had been lies.

He pressed a hand to Loki’s back as they walked, and even though Loki pretended to ignore it, Thor still felt the majority of his weight leaning into him. 

A smile came across Thor’s face. Loki wasn’t scowling nor pulling away. Despite what had happened between them, despite the fact that they would be free in as little as an hour, Loki still trusted him with his vulnerability. And for once, the reason behind it (or rather, the person who had caused it) didn’t repulse Thor beyond his joy. They had been abused and raped and discarded, but they had grown stronger, closer, and all the more trusting for it.

After a time, the crowds of Sakaarians they passed started to disperse, as Val led them farther and farther away from the palace. Loki’s face was pensive but untroubled, and Thor leaned in to murmur so that only Loki could hear. “What are you thinking?” he asked.

Loki glanced at him briefly. Hesitated. “I’m thinking about the morning a couple days ago,” he said at last.

Thor knew without asking the morning he referred to. The morning they’d woken together after a night of sex he only slightly remembered. It felt as if he was still there, still hard and lustful and wishing he could die—but it also seemed far away and distant, as if it were ages ago or as if it had happened to someone else. He wondered if Loki felt the same. “What about it?” he asked.

Loki’s lips pressed together and wrinkles tugged at his eyes. Then, his voice, shaky and soft spoke, “I think that was the last time.” His eyes shined, and his cheeks went red. “The last time we’ll ever have to—have to see each other—like that.”

The thought sobered Thor into silence.

Up ahead, Val glanced back at them, her eyes narrowed with concentration. Then, as if relieved to see them still behind her, her brow cleared, and she faced forward again with a slightly quicker stride. Loki struggled to keep up, so Thor shifted his grip on his brother’s waist to offer more support.

After a moment, Loki continued in a whisper, barely heard over the morning wind. “That morning, while I was—while I got the vials,” he said, and Thor resisted a wince at knowing  _ how  _ Loki had gotten the vials, “I kept telling myself, it would be the last time. The last time I ever had to do it. I didn’t actually believe it. Even when we . . . when you agreed to—to die with me, I didn’t believe we would actually die. I thought he would stop it—that there would always be one more time, one more way he would . . .”

He trailed off, and Thor wished right then that he could hug Loki close and never let go.

Loki’s breath came in a stutter. “I couldn’t bear it. I think my mind would have shattered if he’d made us do it even one more time.”

Thor remembered that night, in their room, under the covers when Loki had confessed he was at a breaking point. So calmly. So rationally. It sent a shudder of fear down his spine that Loki could hide such gaping wounds in plain sight, even now.

“But it  _ was _ the last time,” Thor said, both to Loki and to himself. “You didn’t believe it, but it was. It’s over.”

A small smile twisted the corners of Loki’s lips. “So it seems.” He glanced at Thor, and for once, flickers of joy danced in his eyes and his eyebrows lifted with a vibrancy that hadn’t been there before—not for a long time. “Thank you,” he said, “for persuading me to believe it.”

Aching with relief, Thor squeezed Loki’s side in a show of comfort.

Just then, Val stopped. “We’re here,” she said.

Thor looked up at the ship in relief. They’d had to sell the  _ Commodore _ shortly after Asgard’s destruction in order to pay for food and medicine—and this ship had been one of two replacements. Far cheaper, but more hardy and durable.

They walked up the ramp, and as Val punched in the code and the entry door slid open, she glanced at the two of them. “I’m guessing you both will want to rest,” she said and led them past the ship controls and toward the lounging room. “I’ll start up the ship, while you—”

Val stopped so suddenly that Thor ran himself and Loki into her. His head crashed into the back of her skull, and he winced from the sharp blare of pain. He mumbled a quick apology, but his second impulse was to check Loki—Loki, who had gone pale white, his lips parted and stiff, and his eyes wide as they looked over Val’s shoulder.

Instinctively, Thor followed his gaze and felt the blood drain from his face.

In the room, lounging in the chair at the head of the table, with his legs crossed and a couple of attendants standing at his either side, was the Grandmaster.

“Ahh, Scrapper 142, come in, come in, what a pleasant surprise!” he said, tapping his finger against a glass he held in his hand. His eyes flickered over Thor and then Loki, and a dark grin spread across his face. “You’re not going to  _ believe _ the night I had.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> am [loxxxlay](http://loxxxlay.tumblr.com/) on tumblr, feel free to come say hi!


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